eforetl]e  Gringo  Cam 


REESE  LIBRARY 

OK  THK 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 


Deceived 


BANCROFT 
LIBRARY 

THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 


BEFORE  THE 

GRINGO  CAME 


BY 

GERTRUDE   ATHERTON 

AUTUO&  Of   "  THE  JJOOMSWOMAN." 


NEW  YORK 
J.  SELWIN  TAIT  &  SONS 

65  FIFTH  AVENUE 


****? 

COPYRIGHT,  1894,  BY 

GERTRUDE  ATHERTON. 

ALL  RIGHTS  RESERVED. 


TO 

THE  BOHEMIAN  CLUB 

OF  SAN  FRANCISCO 

AS  A  SLIGHT  ACKNOWLEDGMENT  OF 
ITS  COURTESY  IN    PLACING 

ITS  INVALUABLE 

LIBRARY  OF  CALIFORNIAN  LITERATURE 
AT  MY  DISPOSAL. 

GERTRUDE  ATHERTO& 


Republished  from  BlackwoocTs  Magazine,  The 
London  Graphic,  Vanity  Fair,  The  Cosmopolitan, 
Lippincott's  Magazine,  Harper's  Weekly,  and  Figaro. 


BEFORE  THE  GRINGO  CAME 

BEING  ELEVEN  STORIES  OF  OLD  CALIFORNIA. 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS. 


PAOH 

PEARLS  OF  LORETO 1 

THE  EARS  OF  TWENTY  AMERICANS 45 

THE  WASH-TUB  MAIL 127 

THE  CONQUEST  OF  DONA  JACOBA 153 

A  RAMBLE  WITH  EULOGIA 197 

LUKARI'S  STORY 245 

LA  PERDIDA 257 

NATALIE  IVANHOFF  :  A  MEMORY  OF  FORT  Ross 263 

MISSION  TALES. 

THE  VENGEANCE  OF  PADRE  ARROYO 279 

THE  BELLS  OF  SAN  GABRIEL 286 

WHEN  THE  DEVIL  WAS  WELL 297 


THE  PEARLS  OF  LORETO. 


WITHIN  memory  of  most  gnarled  and  coffee- 
colored  Montereno  never  had  been  so  exciting  a  race 
day.  All  essential  conditions  seemed  to  have  con- 
sulted together  and  agreed  to  combine.  Not  a 
wreath  of  fog  floated  across  the  bay  to  dim  the 
sparkling  air.  Every  horse,  every  vaquero,  was 
alert  and  physically  perfect.  The  rains  were  over; 
the  dust  was  not  gathered.  Pio  Pico,  Governor  of 
the  Calif  or  nias,  was  in  Monterey  on  one  of  his 
brief,  infrequent  visits.  Clad  in  black  velvet, 
covered  with  jewels  and  ropes  of  gold,  he  sat  on  his 
big  chestnut  horse  at  the  upper  end  of  the  field, 
with  General  Castro,  Dona  Modeste  Castro,  and 
other  prominent  Monterenos.  His  interest  was  so 
keen  that  more  than  once  the  official  dignity  re- 
laxed, and  he  shouted  "  Bravo ! "  with  the  rest, 
thereby  increasing  the  excitement  of  the  fire-blooded 
Californians. 

And  what  a  brilliant  sight  it  was  !    The  flowers 


2  THE  PEAtiLS  OF  LORETO. 

had  faded  on  the  hills,  for  June  was  upon  them ; 
but  gayer  than  the  hills  had  been  was  the  race-field 
of  Monterey.  Caballeros,  with  silver  on  their  wide 
gray  hat  and  on  their  saddle  of  richly  embossed 
leather,  gold  and  silver  embroidery  on  their  velvet 
serape,  crimson  sash  about  their  slender  waist, 
silver  spurs  and  buckskin  botas,  stood  tensely  in 
their  stirrups  as  the  racers  flew  by,  or  during  the 
short  intervals  pressed  each  other  with  eager 
wagers.  There  was  little  money  at  that  time.  The 
golden  skeleton  within  the  sleeping  body  of  Cali- 
fornia had  not  yet  been  laid  bare.  But  ranches 
were  lost  and  won ;  thousands  of  cattle  would  pass 
to  other  hands  at  the  next  rodeo  ;  many  a  superbly 
caparisoned  steed  would  rear  and  plunge  between 
the  spurs  of  a  new  master. 

And  caballeros  were  not  the  only  living  pictures 
of  that  memorable  day  of  a  time  forever  gone. 
Beautiful  women  in  silken,  fluttering  gowns,  bright 
flowers  holding  the  mantilla  from  their  flushed, 
awakened  face,  sat  their  impatient  horses  as  easily 
as  foam  rides  a  wave.  The  sun  beat  down,  making 
dark  cheeks  pink  and  white  cheeks  darker;  but 
those  great  eyes,  strong  with  their  own  fires,  never 
faltered.  The  old  women  in  attendance  grumbled 
vague  remonstrances  at  all  things,  from  the  heat  to 
intercepted  coquetries.  But  their  charges  have  the 
good  duenas  little  heed.  They  shouted  until  their 
little  throats  were  hoarse,  smashed  their  fans,  beat 
the  sides  of  their  mounts  with  their  tender  hands, 
in  imitation  of  the  vaqueros. 


fUE  PEARLS  OF  LOEETO.  3 

"  It  is  the  gayest,  the  happiest,  the  most  careless 
life  in  the  world,"  thought  Pio  Pico,  shutting  his 
teeth,  as  he  looked  about  him.  "  But  how  long  will 
it  last  ?  Curse  the  Americans !  They  are  com- 
ing." 

But  the  bright  hot  spark  that  convulsed  assembled 
Monterey  shot  from  no  ordinary  condition.  A 
stranger  was  there,  a  guest  of  General  Castro,  Don 
Vicente  de  la  Yega  y  Arillaga,  of  Los  Angeles.  Not 
that  a  stranger  was  matter  for  comment  in  Monte- 
rey, capital  of  California,  but  this  stranger  had 
brought  with  him  horses  which  threatened  to  dis- 
grace the  famous  winners  of  the  North.  Two  races 
already  had  been  won  by  the  black  Southern 
beasts. 

"  God  of  my  soul ! "  cried  the  girls,  one  to  the 
other,  u  their  coats  are  blacker  than  our  hair ! 
Their  nostrils  pulse  like  a  heart  on  fire !  Their  eyes 
flash  like  water  in  the  sun !  Ay  !  the  handsome 
stranger,  will  he  roll  us  in  the  dust  ?  Ay !  our  gold- 
en horses,  with  the  tails  and  manes  of  silver — how 
beautiful  is  the  contrast  with  the  vaqueros  in  their 
black  and  silver,  their  soft  white  linen !  The  shame ! 
the  shame ! — if  they  are  put  to  shame !  Poor 
Guido !  Will  he  lose  this  day,  when  he  has  won  so 
many  ?  But  the  stranger  is  so  handsome !  God  of 
my  life  !  his  eyes  are  like  dark  blue  stars.  And  he  is 
so  cold !  He  alone — he  seems  not  to  care.  Mother  of 
God !  Mother  of  God !  he  wins  again  !  No !  110 !  no ! 
Yes !  Ay !  yi !  yi !  B-r-a-v-o !  " 

Guido  Caba.nares  dug  his  spurs  into  his  horse  and 


4  THE  PEARLS  OF  LOEETO. 

dashed  to  the  head  of  the  field,  where  Don  Vicente 
sat  at  the  left  of  General  Castro.  He  was  followed 
hotly  by  several  friends,  sympathetic  and  indignant. 
As  he  rode,  he  tore  off  his  serape  and  flung  it  to  the 
ground ;  even  his  silk  riding-clothes  sat  heavily  upon 
his  fury.  Don  Vicente  smiled,  and  rode  forward  to 
meet  him. 

"  At  your  service,  senor,"  he  said,  lifting  his  som- 
brero. 

"  Take  your  mustangs  back  to  Los  Angeles ! " 
cried  Don  Guido,  beside  himself  with  rage,  the  polite- 
ness and  dignity  of  his  race  routed  by  passion. 
"  Why  do  you  bring  your  hideous  brutes  here  to 
shame  me  in  the  eyes  of  Monterey  ?  Why " 

"Yes!  Why?  Why?"  demanded  his  friends, 
surrounding  De  la  Vega.  "  This  is  not  the  humilia- 
tion of  a  man,  but  of  the  North  by  the  accursed 
South !  You  would  even  take  our  capital  from  us ! 
Los  Angeles,  the  capital  of  the  Californias  !  " 

"  What  have  politics  to  do  with  horse-racing  ? " 
asked  De  la  Vega,  coldly.  "  Other  strangers  have 
brought  their  horses  to  your  field,  I  suppose." 

"  Yes,  but  they  have  not  won.  They  have  not 
been  from  the  South." 

By  this  time  almost  every  caballero  on  the  field 
was  wheeling  about  De  la  Vega.  Some  felt  with 
Cabanares,  others  rejoiced  in  his  defeat,  but  all  re- 
sented the  victory  of  the  South  over  the  North. 

"  Will  you  run  again  ?  "  demanded  Cabaiiares. 

"  Certainly.  Do  you  think  of  putting  your  knife 
into  my  neck  ?  " 


THE  PEARLS  OF  LORETO.  5 

Cabanares  drew  back,  somewhat  abashed,  the 
indifference  of  the  other  sputtering  like  water  on  his 
passion. 

"  It  is  not  a  matter  for  blood,"  he  said,  sulkily ; 
"but  the  head  is  hot  and  words  are  quick  when 
horses  run  neck  to  neck.  And,  by  the  Mother  of 
God,  you  shall  not  have  the  last  race.  My  best 
horse  has  not  run.  Viva  El  Rayo !  " 

"  Viva  El  Rayo ! "  shouted  the  caballeros. 

"And  let  the  race  be  between  you  two  alone," 
cried  one.  "  The  North  or  the  South  !  Los  Angeles 
or  Monterey !  It  will  be  the  race  of  our  life." 

"  The  North  or  the  South  ?  "  cried  the  caballeros, 
wheeling  and  galloping  across  the  field  to  the  donas. 
"  Twenty  leagues  to  a  real  for  Guido  Cabanares." 

"What  a  pity  that  Ysabel  is  not  here!"  said 
Dona  Modeste  Castro  to  Pio  Pico.  "How  those 
green  eyes  of  hers  would  flash  to-day !  " 

"  She  would  not  come,"  said  the  Governor.  "  She 
said  she  was  tired  of  the  race." 

"Whom  do  you  speak  of?"  asked  De  le  Vega, 
who  had  rejoined  them. 

"Of  Ysabel  Herrera,  La  Favorita  of  Monterey," 
answered  Pio  Pico.  "  The  most  beautiful  woman  in 
the  Californias,  since  Chonita  Iturbi  y  Moncada,  my 
Vicente.  It  is  at  her  uncle's  that  I  stay.  Thou  hast 
heard  me  speak  of  my  old  friend ;  and  surely  thou 
hast  heard  of  her." 

"  Ay ! "  said  De  la  Vega.    "  I've  heard  of  her." 

"  Viva  El  Rayo !  " 

"  Ay,  the  ugly  brute !  " 


6  THE  PEABLS  OF  LORETO. 

"  What  name  ?  Yitriolo  ?  Mother  of  God !  Dia- 
blo or  Demonio  would  suit  him  better.  He  looks  as 
if  he  had  been  bred  in  hell.  He  will  not  stand  the 
quirto :  and  El  Rayo  is  more  lightly  built.  We  will 
beat  by  a  dozen  lengths." 

The  two  vaqueros  who  were  to  ride  the  horses  had 
stripped  to  their  soft  linen  shirt  and  black  velvet 
trousers,  cast  aside  their  sombreros,  and  bound  their 
head  with  tightly  knotted  handkerchief.  Their 
spurs  were  fastened  to  bare  brown  heels ;  the  cruel 
quirto  was  in  their  hand  ;  they  rode  barebacked, 
winding  their  wiry  legs  in  and  out  of  a  horse-hair 
rope  encircling  the  body  of  the  animal.  As  they 
slowly  passed  the  crowd  on  their  way  to  the  start- 
ing point  at  the  lower  end  of  the  field,  and  listened 
to  the  rattling  fire  of  wagers  and  comments,  they 
looked  defiant,  and  alive  to  the  importance  of  the 
coming  event. 

El  Rayo  shone  like  burnished  copper,  his  silver 
mane  and  tail  glittering  as  if  powdered  with  diamond- 
dust.  He  was  long  and  graceful  of  body,  thin  of 
flank,  slender  of  leg.  With,  arched  neck  and  flash- 
ing eyes  he  walked  with  the  pride  of  one  who  was 
aware  of  the  admiration  he  excited. 

Vitriol o  was  black  and  powerful.  His  long  neck 
fitted  into  well-placed  shoulders.  He  had  great 
depth  of  girth,  immense  length  from  shoulder-points 
to  hips,  big  cannon-bones,  and  elastic  pasterns. 
There  was  neither  amiability  nor  pride  in  his  mien ; 
rather  a  sullen  sense  of  brute  power,  such  as  may 
have  belonged  to  the  knights  of  the  Middle  Ages. 


THE  PEARLS  OF  LOEETO.  7 

Now  and  again  he  curled  his  lips  away  from  the  bit 
and  laid  his  ears  back  as  if  he  intended  to  eat  of  the 
elegant  Beau  Brummel  stepping  so  daintily  beside 
him.  Of  the  antagonistic  crowd  he  took  not  the 
slightest  notice. 

"  The  race  begins !  Holy  heaven !  "  The  mur- 
mur rose  to  a  shout — a  deep  hoarse  shout  strangely 
crossed  and  re-crossed  by  long  silver  notes ;  a  thrill- 
ing volume  of  sound  rising  above  a  sea  of  flashing 
eyes  and  parted  lips  and  vivid  moving  mass  of  color. 

Twice  the  horses  scored,  and  were  sent  back. 
The  third  time  they  bounded  by  the  starting-post 
neck  and  neck,  nose  to  nose.  Jose  Abrigo,  treasurer 
of  Monterey,  dashed  his  sombrero,  heavy  with  silver 
eagles,  to  the  ground,  and  the  race  was  begun. 

Almost  at  once  the  black  began  to  gain.  Inch  by 
inch  he  fought  his  way  to  the  front,  and  the  roar 
with  which  the  crowd  had  greeted  the  start  died 
into  the  silence  of  apprehension. 

El  Rayo  was  not  easily  to  be  shaken  off.  A  third 
of  the  distance  had  been  covered,  and  his  nose  was 
abreast  of  Vitriolo's  flank.  The  vaqueros  sat  as  if 
carved  from  bronze,  as  lightly  as  if  hollowed,  watch- 
ing each  other  warily  out  of  the  corner  of  their  eyes. 

Relentlessly  and  severely  the  black  still  gained, 
and  half-way  from  home  light  was  visible  between 
the  two  horses.  The  pace  became  terrific,  the  excite- 
ment so  intense  that  not  a  sound  was  heard  but 
that  of  racing  hoofs.  The  horses  swept  onward  like 
projectiles,  the  same  smoothness,  the  same  sug- 
gestion of  eternal  flight.  The  bodies  were  ex- 


8  THE  PEARLS  OF  LOEETO. 

tended  until  the  tense  muscles  rose  under  the  satin 
coat*  Vitriolo's  eyes  flashed  viciously ;  El  Kayo's 
strained  with  determination.  Vitriolo's  nostrils  were 
red  as  angry  craters ;  El  Rayo's  fluttered  like  paper 
in  the  wind. 

Three-quarters  of  the  race  was  run,  and  the  rider 
of  Vitriolo  could  tell  by  the  sound  of  the  hoof- 
beats  behind  him  that  he  had  a  good  head  of  at  least 
two  lengths  over  the  Northern  champion.  A  smile 
curled  the  corners  of  his  heavy  lips ;  the  race  was 
his  already. 

Suddenly  El  Rayo's  vaquero  raised  his  hand,  and 
down  came  the  maddening  quirto,  first  on  one  side, 
then  on  the  other.  His  spurs  dug;  the  blood 
spurted.  The  crowd  burst  into  a  howl  of  delight  as 
their  favorite  responded.  Startled  by  the  sound, 
Vitriolo's  rider  darted  a  glance  over  his  shoulder, 
and  saw  El  Rayo  bearing  down  upon  him  like  a 
thunder-bolt,  regaining  the  ground  that  he  had  lost 
not  by  inches,  but  by  feet.  Two  hundred  paces 
from  the  finish  he  was  at  the  black's  flanks ;  one 
hundred  and  fifty,  he  was  at  his  girth ;  one  hundred, 
and  the  horses  were  neck  and  neck ;  and  still  the 
quirto  whirred  down  on  El  Rayo's  heaving  flanks, 
the  spurs  dug  deeper  into  his  quivering  flesh. 

The  vaquero  of  Vitriolo  sat  like  a  graven  image, 
using  neither  whip  nor  spur,  his  teeth  set,  his  eyes 
rolling  from  the  goal  ahead  to  the  rider  at  his  side. 

The  breathless  intensity  of  the  spectators  had 
burst.  They  had  begun  to  click  their  teeth,  to  mut- 
ter hoarsely,  then  to  shout,  to  gesticulate,  to  shake 


THE  PEARLS  OF  LORETO.  9 

their  fists  in  each  other's  face,  to  push  and  scramble 
for  a  better  view. 

"  Holy  God !  "  cried  Pio  Pico,  carried  out  of  him- 
self, "  the  South  is  lost !  Vitriolo  the  magnificent ! 
Ah,  who  would  have  thought?  The  black  by  the 
gold !  Ay !  What !  No !  Holy  Mary !  Holy 
God! " 

Six  strides  more  and  the  race  is  over.  With  the 
howl  of  a  demon  the  vaquero  of  the  South  leans  for- 
ward over  Vitriolo's  neck.  The  big  black  responds 
like  a  creature  of  reason.  Down  comes  the  quirto 
once— only  once.  He  fairly  lifts  his  horse  ahead 
and  shoots  into  victory,  winner  by  a  neck.  The 
South  has  vanquished  the  North. 

The  crowd  yelled  and  shouted  until  it  was  ex- 
hausted. But  even  Cabafiares  made  no  further 
demonstration  toward  De  la  Vega.  Not  only  was 
he  weary  and  depressed,  but  the  victory  had  been 
nobly  won. 

It  grew  late,  and  they  rode  to  the  town,  caballeros 
pushing  as  close  to  donas  as  they  dared,  duenas  in 
close  attendance,  one  theme  on  the  lips  of  all.  Anger 
gave  place  to  respect ;  moreover,  De  la  Yega  was 
the  guest  of  General  Castro,  the  best-beloved  man 
in  California.  They  were  willing  to  extend  the 
hand  of  friendship ;  but  he  rode  last,  between  the 
General  and  Dona  Modeste,  and  seemed  to  care  as 
little  for  their  good  will  as  for  their  ill. 

Pio  Pico  rode  ahead,  and  as  the  cavalcade  entered 
the  town  he  broke  from  it  and  ascended  the  hill  to 
carry  the  news  to  Ysabel  Herrera. 


10  THE  PEARLS  OF  LOEETO. 

Monterey,  rising  to  her  pine-spiked  hills,  swept 
like  a  crescent  moon  about  the  sapphire  bay.  The 
surf  roared  and  fought  the  white  sand  hills  of  the 
distant  horn ;  on  that  nearest  the  town  crouched  the 
fort,  grim  and  rude,  but  pulsating  with  military 
life,  and  alert  for  American  onslaught.  In  the 
valley  the  red-tiled  white  adobe  houses  studded  a 
little  city  which  was  a  series  of  corners  radiating 
from  a  central  irregular  street.  A  few  mansions 
were  on  the  hillside  to  the  right,  brush-crowded 
sand  banks  on  the  left ;  the  perfect  curve  of  hills, 
thick  with  pine  woods  and  dense  green  undergrowth, 
rose  high  above  and  around  all,  a  rampart  of  splendid 
symmetry. 

"  Ay !  Ysabel !  Ysabel !  "  cried  the  young  people 
as  they  swept  down  the  broad  street.  "  Bring  her 
to  us,  Excellency.  Tell  her  she  shall  not  know 
until  she  comes  down.  We  will  tell  her.  Ay !  poor 
Guido!" 

The  Governor  turned  and  waved  his  hand,  then 
continued  the  ascent  of  the  hill,  toward  a  long,  low 
house  which  showed  no  sign  of  life. 

He  alighted  and  glanced  into  a  room  opening  upon 
the  corridor  which  traversed  the  front.  The  room 
was  large,  and  dimly  lighted  by  deeply-set  win- 
dows. The  floor  was  bare,  the  furniture  of  horse- 
hair ;  saints  and  family  portraits  adorned  the  white 
walls  ;  on  a  chair  lay  a  guitar — a  typical  Californian 
sala  of  that  day.  The  ships  brought  few  luxuries, 
beyond  raiment  and  jewels,  to  even  the  wealthy  of 
that  isolated  country. 


TIIE  PEARLS  OF  LORETO.  11 

"  Ysabel,"  called  the  Governor,  "where  art  thou? 
Come  down  to  the  town  and  hear  the  fortune  of  the 
races.  Alvarado  Street  streams  like  a  comet.  It  is 
not  accordant  that  the  Star  of  Monterey  withhold  her 
light." 

A  girl  rose  from  a  sofa  and  came  slowly  forward 
to  the  corridor.  Discontent  marred  her  face  as  she 
gave  her  hand  to  the  Governor  to  kiss,  and  looked 
down  upon  the  brilliant  town.  For  the  Senorita 
Dona  Ysabel  Herrera  was  poor.  Were  it  not  for  her 
uncle  she  would  not  have  where  to  lay  her  stately 
head ;  and  she  was  La  Favorita  of  Monterey,  the 
proudest  beauty  in  California.  Her  father  had 
gambled  away  his  last  acre,  his  horse,  his  saddle, 
the  serape  off  his  back;  then  sent  his  motherless 
girl  to  his  brother,  and  buried  himself  in  Mexico. 
Don  Antonio  took  the  child  to  his  heart,  and  sent 
for  a  widowed  cousin  to  be  her  duena.  He  bought 
her  beautiful  garments  from  the  ships  that  touched 
the  port,  but  had  no  inclination  to  gratify  her  famous 
longing  to  hang  ropes  of  pearls  in  her  soft  black  hair, 
to  wind  them  about  her  white  neck,  and  band  them 
above  her  green  resplendent  eyes. 

"Unbend  thy  brows,"  said  Pio  Pico.  "Wrinkles 
were  not  made  for  youth." 

Ysabel  moved  her  brows  apart,  but  the  clouds  still 
lay  in  her  eyes. 

"  Thou  dost  not  ask  of  the  races !  Oh,  thou  in- 
different one !  What  is  the  trouble,  my  Ysabel  ? 
Will  no  one  bring  the  pearls  ?  The  loveliest  girl  in 
all  the  Californias  has  said,  « I  will  wed  no  man  who 


12  THE  PEAELS  OF  LORETO. 

does  not  bring  me  a  lapful  of  pearls,'  and  no  one  has 
filled  the  front  of  that  pretty,  flowered  gown.  But 
have  reason,  nina.  Remember  that  our  Alta  Cali- 
fornia has  no  pearls  on  its  shores,  and  that  even  the 
pearl  fisheries  of  the  terrible  lower  country  are 
almost  worn  out.  Will  nothing  less  content  thee  ?  " 

"  Nothing." 

"God  of  my  soul!  Thou  hast  ambition.  No 
woman  has  had  more  offered  her  than  thou.  But 
thou  art  worthy  of  the  most  that  man  could  give. 
Had  I  not  a  wife  myself,  I  believe  I  would  throw  my 
jewels  and  my  ugly  old  head  at  thy  little  feet." 

Ysabel  glanced  with  some  envy  at  the  magnificent 
jewels  with  which  the  Governor  of  the  Californias 
was  hung,  but  did  not  covet  the  owner.  An  uglier 
man  than  Pio  Pico  had  rarely  entered  this  world. 
The  upper  lip  of  his  enormous  mouth  dipped  at  the 
middle ;  the  broad,  thick  underlip  hung  down  with 
its  own  weight.  The  nose  was  big  and  coarse, 
although  there  was  a  certain  spirited  suggestion  in 
the  cavernous  nostrils.  Intelligence  and  reflective- 
ness were  also  in  his  little  eyes,  and  they  were  far 
apart.  A  small  white  mustache  grew  above  his 
mouth  ;  about  his  chin,  from  ear  to  ear,  was  a  short, 
stubby  beard,  whiter  by  contrast  with  his  copper- 
colored  skin.  He  looked  much  like  an  intellectual 
bear. 

And  Ysabel  ?  In  truth,  she  had  reason  for  her 
pride.  Her  black  hair,  unblemished  by  gloss  or 
tinge  of  blue,  fell  waving  to  her  feet.  California, 
haughty,  passionate,  restless,  pleasure-loving, 


THE  PEARLS  OF  LOEETO.  13 

looked  from  her  dark  green  eyes ;  the  soft  black 
lashes  dropped  like  a  curtain  when  they  became  too 
expressive.  Her  full  mouth  was  deeply  red,  but 
only  a  faint  pink  lay  in  her  white  cheeks ;  the  nose 
curved  at  bridge  and  nostrils.  About  her  low  shoul- 
ders she  held  a  blue  reboso,  the  finger-tips  of  each 
slim  hand  resting  on  the  opposite  elbow.  She  held 
her  head  a  little  back,  and  Pio  Pico  laughed  as  he 
looked  at  her. 

"  Dios  !  "  he  said,  "  but  thou  mightst  be  an  Este- 
nega  or  an  Iturbi  y  Moncada.  Sure,  that  lofty  head 
better  suits  old  Spain  than  the  republic  of  Mexico. 
Draw  thy  reboso  about  thy  head  now,  and  let  us  go 
down.  They  expect  thee." 

She  lifted  the  scarf  above  her  hair,  and  walked 
down  the  steep  rutted  hill  with  the  Governor,  her 
flowered  gown  floating  with  a  silken  rustle  about 
her.  In  a  few  moments  she  was  listening  to  the  tale 
of  the  races. 

"  Ay,  Ysabel !  God  of  my  soul !  What  a  day ! 
A  young  senor  from  Los  Angeles  won  the  race — 
almost  all  the  races — the  Senor  Don  Vicente  de  la 
Vega  y  Arillaga.  He  has  never  been  here,  before. 
His  horses !  Mother  of  God !  They  ran  like  hares. 
Poor  Guido  !  Valgame  Dios !  Even  thou  wouldst 
have  been  moved  to  pity.  But  he  is  so  handsome  ! 
Look!  Look!  He  comes  now,  side  by  side  with 
General  Castro.  Dios !  his  serape  is  as  stiff  with 
gold  as  the  vestments  of  the  padre." 

Ysabel  looked  up  as  a  man  rode  past.  His  bold 
profile  and  thin  face  were  passionate  and  severe ; 


14  THE  PEARLS  OF  LORETO. 

his  dark  blue  eyes  were  full  of  power.  Such  a  face 
was  rare  among  the  languid,  shallow  men  of  her 
race. 

"  He  rides  with  General  Castro,"  whispered 
Benicia  Ortega.  "  He  stays  with  him.  We  shall 
see  him  at  the  ball  to-night." 

As  Don  Vicente  passed  Ysabel  their  eyes  met  for 
a  moment.  His  opened  suddenly  with  a  bold,  eager 
flash,  his  arched  nostrils  twitching.  The  color  left 
her  face,  and  her  eyes  dropped  heavily. 

Love  needed  no  kindling  in  the  heart  of  the  Cali- 
fornian. 


II. 

THE  people  of  Monterey  danced  every  night  of 
their  life,  and  went  nowhere  so  eagerly  as  to  the 
great  sala  of  Doiia  Modeste  Castro,  their  leader  of 
fashion,  whose  gowns  were  made  for  her  in  the  city 
of  Mexico. 

Ysabel  envied  her  bitterly.  Not  because  the  Dona 
Modeste's  skin  was  whiter  than  her  own,  for  it  could 
not  be,  nor  her  eyes  greener,  for  they  were  not ;  but 
because  her  jewels  were  richer  than  Pio  Pico's,  and 
upon  all  grand  occasions  a  string  of  wonderful  pearls 
gleamed  in  her  storm-black  hair.  But  one  feminine 
compensation  had  Ysabel :  she  was  taller ;  Doiia 
Modeste's  slight,  elegant  figure  lacked  Ysabel's 
graceful  inches,  and  perhaps  she  too  felt  a  pang 


THE  PEARLS  OF  LORETO.  15 

sometimes  as  the  girl  undulated  above  her  like  a 
snake  about  to  strike. 

At  the  fashionable  hour  of  ten  Monterey  was 
gathered  for  the  dance.  All  the  men  except  the 
officers  wore  black  velvet  or  broadcloth  coats  and 
white  trousers.  All  the  women  wore  white,  the 
waists  long  and  pointed,  the  skirts  full.  Ysabel's 
gown  was  of  embroidered  crepe.  Her  hair  was 
coiled  about  her  head,  and  held  by  a  tortoise  comb 
framed  with  a  narrow  band  of  gold.  Pio  Pico, 
splendid  with  stars  and  crescents  and  rings  and 
pins  of  sapphires,  led  her  in,  and  with  his  unique 
ugliness  enhanced  her  beauty. 

She  glanced  eagerly  about  the  room  whilst  replying 
absently  to  the  caballeros  who  surrounded  her.  Don 
Vicente  de  la  Yega  was  not  there.  The  thick  circle 
about  her  parted,  and  General  Castro  bent  over  her 
hand,  begging  the  honor  of  the  contradanza.  She 
sighed,  and  for  the  moment  forgot  the  Southerner, 
who  had  flashed  and  gone  like  the  beginning  of  a 
dream.  Here  was  a  man — the  only  man  of  her 
knowledge  whom  she  could  have  loved,  and  who 
would  have  found  her  those  pearls.  Californians 
had  so  little  ambition!  Then  she  gave  a  light 
audacious  laugh.  Governor  Pico  was  shaking  hands 
cordially  with  General  Castro,  the  man  he  hated 
best  in  California. 

No  two  men  could  have  contrasted  more  sharply 
than  Jose  Castro  and  Pio  Pico — with  the  exception 
of  Alvarado,  the  most  famous  men  of  their  country. 
The  gold  trimmings  of  the  general's  uniform  were 


16  THL  PEARLS  OF  LO&ETO. 

his  only  jewels.  His  hair  and  beard — the  latter 
worn  d  la  Basca,  a  narrow  strip  curving  from  upper 
lip  to  ear — were  as  black  as  Pio  Pico's  once  had 
been.  The  handsomest  man  in  California,  he  had 
less  consciousness  than  the  least  of  the  caballeros. 
His  deep  gray  eyes  were  luminous  with  enthusiasm  ; 
his  nose  was  as  fine  and  bold  as  if  etched  on  ivory ; 
his  firm,  sensitive  mouth  was  cut  above  a  resolute 
chin.  He  looked  what  he  was,  the  ardent  patriot  of 
a  doomed  cause. 

"  Senorita,"  he  said,  as  he  led  Ysabel  out  to  the 
sweet,  monotonous  music  of  the  contradanza,  "  did 
you  see  the  caballero  who  rode  with  me  to-day  ?  " 

A  red  light  rose  to  Ysabel's  cheek.  "  Which  one, 
commandante  ?  Many  rode  with  you." 

"  I  mean  he  who  rode  at  my  right,  the  winner  of 
the  races,  Vicente,  son  of  my  old  friend  Juan  Bau- 
tista  de  la  Vega  y  Arillaga,  of  Los  Angeles." 

"  It  may  be.    I  think  I  saw  a  strange  face.'' 

"  He  saw  yours,  Doiia  Ysabel,  and  is  looking  upon 
you  now  from  the  corridor  without,  although  the  fog 
is  heavy  about  him.  Cannot  you  see  him — that 
dark  shadow  by  the  pillar  ?  " 

Ysabel  never  went  through  the  graceful  evolutions 
of  the  contradanza  as  she  did  that  night.  Her 
supple,  slender  body  curved  and  swayed  and  glided ; 
her  round  arms  were  like  lazy  snakes  uncoiling; 
her  exquisitely  poised  head  moved  in  perfect  con- 
cord with  her  undulating  hips.  Her  eyes  grew 
brighter,  her  lips  redder.  The  young  men  who 
stood  near  gave  loud  vent  to  their  admiration,  as  if 


THE  PEARLS  OF  LOBEfO.  17 

she  had  been  dancing  El  Son  alone  on   the  floor. 
But  the  man  without  made  no  sign. 

After  the  dance  was  over,  General  Castro  led  her 
to  her  duena,  and  handing  her  a  guitar,  begged  a  song. 
She  began  a  light  love-ballad,  singing  with  the 
grace  and  style  of  her  Spanish  blood ;  a  little  mock- 
ing thing,  but  with  a  wild  break  now  and  again. 
As  she  sang,  she  fixed  her  eyes  coquettishly  on  the 
adoring  face  of  Guido  Cabanares,  who  stood  beside 
her,  but  saw  every  thrill  of  the  form  beyond  the  win- 
dow. Don  Guido  kept  his  ardent  eyes  riveted  upon 
her  but  detected  no  wandering  in  her  glances.  His 
lips  trembled  as  he  listened,  and  once  he  brushed 
the  tears  from  his  eyes.  She  gave  him  a  little  cyni- 
cal smile,  then  broke  her  song  in  two.  The  man  on 
the  corridor  had  dashed  his  hat  to  the  ground  with 
a  loud  exclamation,  and  sprung  through  the  win- 
dow. 

Ysabel,  clinching  her  hands  the  better  to  control 
her  jumping  nerves,  turned  quickly  to  Cabanares, 
who  had  pressed  behind  her,  and  was  pouring  words 
into  her  ear. 

"Ysabel!  Ysabel!  hast  thou  no  pity?  Dost 
thou  not  see  that  I  am  fit  to  set  the  world  on  fire 
for  love  of  thee  ?  The  very  water  boils  as  I  drink 
it- 
She  interrupted  him  with  a  scornful  laugh,  the 
sharper  that  her  voice  might  not  tremble.  "  Bring 
me  my  pearls.  What  is  love  worth  when  it  will  not 
grant  one  little  desire  ?  " 

He  groaned.    "I  have  found  a  vein  of  gold  on 
2 


18  THE  PEARLS  OF  LOEETO. 

my  rancho.  I  can  pick  the  little  shining  pieces  out 
with  my  fingers.  I  will  have  them  beaten  into  a 
saddle  for  thee " 

But  she  had  turned  her  back  flat  upon  him,  and 
was  making  a  deep  courtesy  to  the  man  whom  Gen- 
eral Castro  presented. 

"I  appreciate  the  honor  of  your  acquaintance," 
she  murmured,  mechanically. 

"  At  your  feet,  senorita, "  said  Don  Vicente. 

The  art  of  making  conversation  had  not  been  cul- 
tivated among  the  Californians,  and  Ysabel  plied  her 
large  fan  with  slow  grace,  at  a  loss  for  further 
remark,  and  wondering  if  her  heart  would  suffocate 
her.  But  Don  Vicente  had  the  gift  of  words. 

"  Senorita, "  he  said,  "  I  have  stood  in  the  chilling 
fog  and  felt  the  warmth  of  your  lovely  voice  at  my 
heart.  The  emotions  I  felt  my  poor  tongue  cannot 
translate.  They  swarm  in  my  head  like  a  hive  of 
puzzled  bees ;  but  perhaps  they  look  through  my 
eyes,"  and  he  fixed  his  powerful  and  penetrating 
gaze  on  Ysabel's  green  depths. 

A  waltz  began,  and  he  took  her  in  his  arms  with- 
out asking  her  indulgence,  and  regardless  of  the 
indignation  of  the  mob  of  men  about  her.  Ysabel, 
whose  being  was  filled  with  the  tumult  of  awaken- 
ing passion,  lay  passive  as  he  held  her  closer  than 
man  had  ever  dared  before. 

"  I  love  you,"  he  said,  in  his  harsh  voice.  "  I  wish 
you  for  my  wife.  At  once.  When  I  saw  you  to-day 
standing  with  a  hundred  other  beautiful  women,  I 
said :  *  She  is  the  fairest  of  them  all.  I  shall  have 


THE  PEARLS  OF  LORETO.  19 

her.'  And  I  read  the  future  in" — he  suddenly 
dropped  the  formal  "  you  " — "  in  thine  eyes,  carina. 
Thy  soul  sprang  to  mine.  Thy  heart  is  locked  in 
my  heart  closer,  closer  than  my  arms  are  holding 
thee  now. " 

The  strength  of  his  embrace  was  violent  for  a 
moment;  but  Ysabel  might  have  been  cut  from 
marble.  Her  body  had  lost  its  swaying  grace ;  it 
was  almost  rigid.  She  did  not  lift  her  eyes.  But 
De  la  Vega  was  not  discouraged. 

The  music  finished,  and  Ysabel  was  at  once  sur- 
rounded by  a  determined  retinue.  This  intruding 
Southerner  was  welcome  to  the  honors  of  the  race- 
field,  but  the  Star  of  Monterey  was  not  for  him.  He 
smiled  as  he  saw  the  menace  of  their  eyes. 

"  I  would  have  her,  "  he  thought,  "  if  they  were  a 
regiment  of  Castros — which  they  are  not."  But  he 
had  not  armed  himself  against  diplomacy. 

"  Senor  Don  Vicente  de  la  Yega  y  Arillaga,  "  said 
Don  Guido  Cabanares,  who  had  been  selected  as 
spokesman,  "  perhaps  you  have  not  learned  during 
your  brief  visit  to  our  capitol  that  the  SeSorita  Dona 
Ysabel  Herrera,  La  Favorita  of  Alta  California,  has 
sworn  by  the  Holy  Virgin,  by  the  blessed  Junipero 
Serra,  that  she  will  wed  no  man  who  does  not  bring 
her  a  lapful  of  pearls.  Can  you  find  those  pearls  on 
the  sands  of  the  South,  Don  Vicente  ?  For,  by  the 
holy  cross  of  God,  you  cannot  have  her  without 
them ! " 

For  a  moment  De  la  Vega  was  disconcerted. 

"  Is  this  true  ?  "  he  demanded,  turning  to  Ysabel. 


20  THE  PEARLS  OF  LORETO. 

"What,  senor?"  she  asked,  vaguely.  She  had 
not  listened  to  the  words  of  her  protesting  admirer. 

A  sneer  bent  his  mouth.  "  That  you  have  put  a 
price  upon  yourself?  That  the  man  who  ardently 
wishes  to  be  your  husband,  who  has  even  won  your 
love,  must  first  hang  you  with  pearls  like — "  He 
stopped  suddenly,  the  blood  burning  his  dark  face, 
his  eyes  opening  with  an  expression  of  horrified 
hope.  "Tell  me!  Tell  me!"  he  exclaimed.  "Is 
this  true?" 

For  the  first  time  since  she  had  spoken  with  him 
Ysabel  was  herself.  She  crossed  her  arms  and 
tapped  her  elbows  with  her  pointed  fingers. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  "it  is  true."  She  raised  her  eyes 
to  his  and  regarded  him  steadily.  They  looked  like 
green  pools  frozen  in  a  marble  wall. 

The  harp,  the  flute,  the  guitar,  combined  again, 
and  once  more  he  swung  her  from  a  furious  circle. 
But  he  was  safe ;  General  Castro  had  joined  it.  He 
waltzed  her  down  the  long  room,  through  one  ad- 
joining, then  into  another,  and,  indifferent  to  the 
iron  conventions  of  his  race,  closed  the  door  behind 
them.  They  were  in  the  sleeping-room  of  Dona 
Modes te.  The  bed  with  its  rich  satin  coverlet,  the 
bare  floor,  the  simple  furniture,  were  in  semi-dark- 
ness ;  only  on  the  altar  in  the  corner  were  candles 
burning.  Above  it  hung  paintings  of  saints,  finely 
executed  by  Mexican  hands  ;  an  ebony  cross  spread 
its  black  arms  against  the  white  wall ;  the  candles 
flared  to  a  golden  Christ.  He  caught  her  hands  and 
dragged  her  over  to  the  altar. 


THE  PEARLS  OF  LORETO.  21 

"  Listen  to  me,"  he  said.  "  I  will  bring  you  those 
pearls.  You  shall  have  such  pearls  as  no  queen  in 
Europe  possesses.  Swear  to  me  here,  with  your 
hands  on  this  altar,  that  you  will  wed  me  when  I 
return,  no  matter  how  or  where  I  find  those  pearls." 

He  was  holding  her  hands  between  the  candelabra. 
She  looked  at  him  with  eyes  of  passionate  surrender ; 
the  man  had  conquered  worldly  ambitions.  But  he 
answered  her  before  she  had  time  to  speak. 

"  You  love  me,  and  would  withdraw  the  condi- 
tions. But  I  am  in  a  mood  to  do  a  daring  and  a  ter- 
rible act.  Furthermore,  I  wish  to  show  you  that  I 
can  succeed  where  all  other  men  have  failed.  I  only 
ask  two  things  now.  First,  make  me  the  vow  I  wish." 

"  I  swear  it,"  she  said. 

"  Now,"  he  said,  his  voice  sinking  to  a  harsh  but 
caressing  whisper,  "give  me  one  kiss  for  courage 
and  hope." 

She  leaned  slowly  forward,  the  blood  pulsing  in 
her  lips  ;  but  she  had  been  brought  up  behind  grated 
windows,  and  she  drew  back.  "  No,"  she  said,  "  not 
now." 

For  a  moment  he  looked  rebellious  ;  then  he  laid 
his  hands  on  her  shoulders  and  pressed  her  to  her 
knees.  He  knelt  behind  her,  and  together  they  told 
a  rosary  for  his  safe  return. 

He  left  her  there  acd  went  to  his  room.  From  his 
saddle-bag  he  took  a  long  letter  from  a  intimate 
friend,  one  of  the  younger  Franciscan  priests  of  the 
Mission  of  Santa  Barbara,  where  he  had  been 
educated.  He  sought  this  paragraph : 


22  THE  PEARLS  OF  LORETO. 

"  Thou  knowest,  of  course,  my  Vicente,  of  the 
pearl  fisheries  of  Baja' California.  It  is  whispered — 
between  ourselves,  indeed,  it  is  quite  true — that  a 
short  while  ago  the  Indian  divers  discovered  an  ex- 
travagantly rich  bed  of  pearls.  Instead  of  reporting 
to  any  of  the  companies,  they  have  hung  them  all 
upon  our  Most  Sacred  Lady  of  Loreto,  in  the  Mission 
of  Loreto ;  and  there,  by  the  grace  of  God.  they  will 
remain.  They  are  worth  the  ransom  of  a  king,  my 
Vicente,  and  the  Church  has  come  to  her  own 
again." 


III. 


THE  fog  lay  thick  on  the  bay  at  dawn  next  morn- 
ing. The  white  waves  hid  the  blue,  and  muffled  the 
roar  of  the  surf.  Now  and  again  a  whale  threw  a 
volume  of  spray  high  in  the  air,  a  geyser  from  a 
phantom  sea.  Above  the  white  sands  straggled  the 
white  town,  ghostly,  prophetic. 

De  la  Vega,  a  dark  sombrero  pulled  over  his  eyes, 
a  dark  serape  enveloping  his  tall  figure,  rode,  unat- 
tended and  watchful,  out  of  the  town.  Not  until  he 
reached  the  narrow  road  through  the  brush  forest 
beyond  did  he  give  his  horse  rein.  The  indolence 
of  the  Californian  was  no  longer  in  his  carriage  ;  it 
looked  alert  and  muscular;  recklessness  accentuated 
the  sternness  of  his  face. 


THE  PERRLS  OF  LORETO.  23 

As  he  rode,  the  fog  receded  slowly.  He  left  the 
chaparral  and  rode  by  green  marshes  cut  with 
sloughs  and  stained  with  vivid  patches  of  orange. 
The  frogs  in  the  tules  chanted  their  hoarse  matins. 
Through  brush-covered  plains  once  more,  with 
sparsely  wooded  hills  in  the  distance,  and  again  the 
tules,  the  marsh,  the  patches  of  orange.  Tie  rode 
through  a  field  of  mustard ;  the  pale  yellow  petals 
burshed  his  dark  face,  the  delicate  green  leaves  won 
his  eyes  from  the  hot  glare  of  the  ascending  sun,  the 
slender  stalks,  rebounding,  smote  his  horse's  flanks. 
lie  climbed  hills  to  avoid  the  wide  marshes,  and 
descended  into  willow  groves  and  fields  ot  daisies. 
Before  noon  he  was  in  the  San  Juan  Mountains,  thick 
with  sturdy  oaks,  bending  their  heads  before  the 
madrono,  that  belle  of  the  forest,  with  her  robes  of 
scarlet  and  her  crown  of  bronze.  The  yellow  lilies 
clung  to  her  skirts,  and  the  buckeye  flung  his  flowers 
at  her  feet.  The  last  redwoods  were  there,  piercing 
the  blue  air  with  their  thin  inflexible  arms,  gray  as 
a  dusty  band  of  friars.  Out  by  the  willows,  where- 
under  crept  the  sluggish  river,  then  between  the 
hills  curving  about  the  valley  of  San  Juan  Bautista. 

At  no  time  is  California  so  beautiful  as  in  the 
month  of  June.  De  la  Vega's  wild  spirit  and  savage 
purpose  were  dormant  for  the  moment  as  he  rode 
down  the  valley  toward  the  mission.  The  hills 
were  like  gold,  like  mammoth  fawns  veiled  with 
violet  mist,  like  rich  tan  velvet.  Afar,  bare  blue 
steeps  were  pink  in  their  chasms,  brown  on  their 
spurs,  The  dark  yellow  fields  were  as  if  thick  with. 


24  THE  PEARLS  OF  LOBETO. 

gold-dust ;  the  pale  mustard  was  a  waving  yellow 
sea.  Not  a  tree  marred  the  smooth  hills.  The 
earth  sent  forth  a  perfume  of  its  own.  Below  the 
plateau  from  which  rose  the  white  walls  of  the  mis- 
sion was  a  wide  field  of  bright  green  corn  rising 
against  the  blue  sky. 

The  padres  in  their  brown  hooded  robes  came  out 
upon  the  long  corridor  of  the  mission  and  welcomed 
the  traveler.  Their  lands  had  gone  from  them,  their 
mission  was  crumbling,  but  the  spirit  of  hospitality 
lingered  there  still.  They  laid  meat  and  fruit  and 
drink  on  a  table  beneath  the  arches,  then  sat  about 
him  and  asked  him  eagerly  for  news  of  the  day. 
Was  it  true  that  the  United  States  of  America  were 
at  war  with  Mexico,  or  about  to  be  ?  True  that  their 
beloved  flag  might  fall,  and  the  stars  and  stripes  of 
an  insolent  invader  rise  above  the  fort  of  Monterey  ? 

De  la  Yega  recounted  the  meager  and  conflicting 
rumors  which  had  reached  California,  but,  not  being 
a  prophet,  could  not  tell  them  that  they  would  be 
the  first  to  see  the  red  white  and  blue  fluttering  on 
the  mountain  before  them.  He  refused  to  rest  more 
than  an  hour,  but  mounted  the  fresh  horse  the 
padres  gave  him  arid  went  his  way,  riding  hard  and 
relentlessly,  like  all  Californians. 

He  sped  onward,  through  the  long^  hot  day, 
leaving  the  hills  for  the  marshes  and  a  long  stretch 
of  ugly  country,  traversing  the  beautiful  San 
Antonio  Valley  in  the  night,  reaching  the  Mission 
of  San  Miguel  at  dawn,  and  resting  there  for  a  few 
hours,  That  night  he  slept  at  a  hospitable  ranch- 


THE  PEARLS  OF  LORETO. 


v< 

25 


house  in  the  park  valley  of  Paso  de  Robles,  a  grim, 
silent  figure  amongst  gay-hearted  people  who  de- 
lighted to  welcome  him.  The  early  morning  found 
him  among  the  chrome  hills,  and  at  the  Mission  of 
San  Luis  Obispo  the  good  padres  gave  him  break- 
fast. The  little  valley,  round  as  a  well,  its  bare 
hills  red  and  brown,  gray  and  pink,  violet  and 
black,  from  fire,  sloping  steeply  from  a  dizzy  height, 
impressed  him  with  a  sense  of  being  prisoned 
in  an  enchanted  vale  where  no  message  of  the  outer 
world  could  come,  and  he  hastened  on  his  way. 

Absorbed  as  he  was,  he  felt  the  beauty  he  flew 
past.  A  line  of  golden  hills  lay  against  sharp  blue 
peaks.  A  towering  mass  of  gray  rocks  had  been  cut 
and  lashed  by  wind  and  water,  earthquake  and  fire, 
into  the  semblance  of  a  massive  castle,  still  warlike 
in  its  ruin.  He  slept  for  a  few  hours  that  night  in 
the  Mission  of  Santa  Ynes,  and  was  high  in  the 
Santa  Barbara  Mountains  at  the  next  noon.  For 
brief  whiles  he  forgot  his  journey's  purpose  as  his 
horse  climbed  slowly  up  the  steep  trails,  knocking 
the  loose  stones  down  a  thousand  feet  and  more 
upon  a  roof  of  tree-tops  which  looked  like  stunted 
brush.  Those  gigantic  masses  of  huge  smooth 
stones,  each  wearing  a  semblance  to  the  face  of 
man  or  beast  ;  those  awful  chasms  and  stupendous 
heights,  densely  wooded,  bare,  and  many-hued,  rising 
above,  beyond,  peak  upon  peak,  cutting  through  the 
visible  atmosphere  —  was  there  no  end  ?  He  turned 
in  his  saddle  and  looked  over  low  peaks  and  canons, 
rivers  and  abysms,  black  peaks  smiting  the  fiery- 


26  THE  PEAELS  OF  LORETO. 

blue  far,  far  to  the  dim  azure  mountains  on  the 
horizon. 

"Mother  of  God!"  he  thought.  "No  wonder 
California  still  shakes !  I  would  I  could  have  stood 
upon  a  star  and  beheld  the  awful  throes  of  this 
country's  birth."  And  then  his  horse  reared  be- 
tween the  sharp  spurs  and  galloped  on. 

He  avoided  the  Mission  of  Santa  Barbara,  resting 
at  a  rancho  outside  the  town.  In  the  morning,  sup- 
plied as  usual  with  a  fresh  horse,  he  fled  onward^ 
with  the  ocean  at  his  right,  its  splendid  roar  in  his 
ears.  The  cliffs  towered  high  above  him;  he  saw 
no  man's  face  for  hours  together ;  but  his  thoughts 
companioned  him,  savage  and  sinister  shapes  whirl- 
ing about  the  figure  of  a  woman.  On,  on,  sleeping 
at  ranches  or  missions,  meeting  hospitality  every- 
where, avoiding  Los  Angeles,  keeping  close  to  the 
ponderous  ocean,  he  left  civilization  'behind  him  at 
last,  and  with  an  Indian  guide  entered  upon  that 
desert  of  mountain  tops,  Baja  California. 

Rapid  traveling  was  not  possible  here.  There 
were  no  valleys  worthy  the  name.  The  sharp  peaks, 
multiplying  mile  after  mile,  were  like  teeth  of 
gigantic  rakes,  black  and  bare.  A  wilderness  of 
mountain-tops,  desolate  as  eternity,  arid,  parched, 
baked  by  the  awful  heat,  the  silence  never  broken 
by  the  cry  of  a  bird,  a  hut  rarely  breaking  the  barren 
monotony,  only  an  infrequent  spring  to  save  from 
death.  It  was  almost  impossible  to  get  food  or  fresh 
horses.  Many  a  night  De  la  Vega  and  his  stoical 
guide  slept  beneath  a  cactus,  or  in  the  mocking 


THE  PEARLS  OF  LOBETO.  27 

of  a  creek.  The  mustangs  he  managed  to  lasso 
were  almost  unridable,  and  would  have  bucked  to 
death  any  but  a  California!!.  Sometimes  he  lived 
on  cactus  fruit  and  the  dried  meat  he  had  brought 
with  him ;  occasionally  he  shot  a  rabbit.  Again 
he  had  but  the  flesh  of  the  rattlesnake  roasted  over 
coals.  But  honey-dew  was  on  the  leaves. 

He  avoided  the  beaten  trail,  and  cut  his  way 
through  naked  bushes  spiked  with  thorns,  and 
through  groves  of  cacti  miles  in  length.  When  the 
thick  fog  rolled  up  from  the  ocean  he  had  to  sit 
inactive  on  the  rocks,  or  lose  his  way.  A  furious 
storm  dashed  him  against  a  bowlder,  breaking  his 
mustang's  leg;  then  a  torrent,  rising  like  a  tidal 
wave,  thundered  down  the  gulch,  and  catching  him 
on  its  crest,  flung  him  upon  a  tree  of  thorns.  When 
dawn  came  he  found  his  guide  dead.  He  cursed  his 
luck,  and  went  on. 

Lassoing  another  mustang,  he  pushed  on,  having 
a  general  idea  of  the  direction  he  should  take.  It 
was  a  week  before  he  reached  Loreto,  a  week  of 
loneliness,  hunger,  thirst,  and  torrid  monotony. 
A  week,  too,  of  thought  and  bitterness  of  spirit.  In 
spite  of  his  love,  which  never  cooled,  and  his 
courage,  which  never  quailed,  Nature,  in  her  guise  of 
foul  and  crooked  hag,  taught  him  the  barrenness  of 
earthly  happiness,  the  mockery  of  human  hope. 
When  youth's  delusions  were  over,  then  the  naked 
desert,  the  wayless  fogs,  the  never-ending  climbing 
and  descending  amongst  thorns  that  pierced  and 
rocks  that  barred. 


28  THE  PEARLS  OF  LORETO. 

If  he  had  not  spent  his  life  in  the  saddle,  he  would 
have  been  worn  out  when  he  finally  reached  Loreto, 
late  one  night.  As  it  was,  he  slept  in  a  hut  until 
the  following  afternoon.  Then  he  took  a  long  swim 
in  the  bay,  and,  later,  sauntered  through  the  town. 

The  forlorn  little  city  was  hardly  more  than  a 
collection  of  Indian's  huts  about  a  church  in  a  sandy 
waste.  No  longer  the  capital,  even  the  barracks 
were  toppling.  When  De  la  Vega  entered  the 
mission  not  a  white  man  but  the  padre  and  his  as- 
sistant was  in  it ;  the  building  was  thronged  with 
Indian  worshipers.  The  mission,  although  the  first 
built  in  California,  was  in  a  fair  state  of  preser- 
vation. The  Stations  in  their  battered  frames  were 
mellow  and  distinct.  The  gold  still  gleamed  in  the 
vestments  of  the  padre. 

i  For  a  few  moments  De  la  Vega  dared  not  raise 
eyes  to  the  Lady  of  Loreto,  standing  aloft  in  the 
dull  blaze  of  adamantine  candles.  When  he  did. 
he  rose  suddenly  from  his  knees  and  left  the  mission, 
The  pearls  were  there. 

It  took  him  but  a  short  time  to  gain  the  confidence 
of  the  priest  and  the  little  population.  He  offered 
no  explanation  for  his  coming,  beyond  the  curiosity 
of  the  traveler.  The  padre  gave  him  a  room  in  the 
mission,  and  spent  every  hour  he  could  spare  with 
the  brilliant  stranger.  At  night  he  thanked  God 
for  the  sudden  oasis  in  his  life's  desolation.  The 
Indians  soon  grew  accustomed  to  the  lonely  figure 
wandering  about  the  sand  plains,  or  kneeling  for 
hours  together  before  the  altar  in  the  church.  And 


THE  PEARLS  OF  LORETO.  29 

whom  their  padre  trusted  was  to  them  as  sacred 
and  impersonal  as  the  wooden  saints  of  their  re- 
ligion. 


IV. 


THE  midnight  stars  watched  over  the  mission. 
Framed  by  the  cross-shaped  window  sunk  deep  in 
the  adobe  wall  above  the  entrance,  a  mass  of  them 
assumed  the  form  of  the  crucifix,  throwing  a  golden 
trail  full  upon  the  Lady  of  Loreto,  proud  in  her 
shining  pearls.  The  long,  narrow  body  of  the 
church  seemed  to  have  swallowed  the  shadows  of 
the  ages,  and  to  yawn  for  more. 

De  la  Vega,  booted  and  spurred,  his  serape  folded 
about  him,  his  sombrero  on  his  head,  opened  the 
sacristy  door  and  entered  the  church.  In  one  hand 
he  held  a  sack ;  in  the  other,  a  candle  sputtering  in 
a  bottle.  He  walked  deliberately  to  the  foot  of  the 
altar.  In  spite  of  his  self-control,  he  stood  appalled 
for  a  moment  as  he  saw  the  dim  radiance  envelop- 
ing the  Lady  of  Loreto.  He  scowled  over  his 
shoulders  at  the  menacing  emblem  of  redemption, 
and  crossed  himself.  But  had  it  been  the  finger  of 
God,  the  face  of  Ysabel  would  have  shone  between. 
He  extinguished  his  candle,  and  swinging  himself 
to  the  top  of  the  altar,  plucked  the  pearls  from  the 
Virgin's  gown  and  dropped  them  into  the  sack.  His 


30  THE  PEARLS  OF  LOEETO. 

hand  trembled  a  little,  but  he  held  his  will  between 
his  teeth. 

How  quiet  it  was  !  The  waves  flung  themselves 
upon  the  shore  with  the  sullen  wrath  of  impotence. 
A  sea-gull  screamed  now  and  again,  an  exclamation- 
point  in  the  silence  above  the  waters.  Suddenly  De 
la  Vega  shook  from  head  to  foot,  and  snatched  the 
knife  from  his  belt.  A  faint  creaking  echoed  through 
the  hollow  church.  He  strained  his  ears,  holding  his 
breath  until  his  chest  collapsed  with  the  shock  of 
outrushing  air.  But  the  sound  was  not  repeated, 
and  he  concluded  that  it  had  been  but  a  vibration  of 
his  nerves.  He  glanced  to  the  window  above  the 
doors.  The  stars  in  it  were  no  longer  visible ;  they 
had  melted  into  bars  of  flame.  The  sweat  stood  cold 
on  his  face,  but  he  went  on  with  his  work. 

A  rope  of  pearls,  cunningly  strung  together  with 
strands  of  sea- weed,  was  wound  about  the  Virgin's 
right  arm.  De  la  Vega  was  too  nervous  to  uncoil 
it ;  he  held  the  sack  beneath,  and  severed  the  strands 
with  his  knife.  As  he  finished,  and  was  about  to 
stoop  and  cut  loose  the  pearls  from  the  hem  of  the 
Virgin's  gown,  he  uttered  a  hoarse  cry  and  stood 
rigid.  A  cowled  head,  with  thin  lips  drawn  over 
yellow  teeth,  furious  eyes  burning  deep  in  withered 
sockets,  projected  on  its  long  neck  from  the  Virgin's 
right  and  confronted  him.  The  body  was  unseen. 

"Thief!"  hissed  the  priest.  "Dog!  Thou 
wouldst  rob  the  Church  ?  Accursed  !  accursed !  " 

There  was  not  one  moment  for  hesitation,  one 
alternative.  Before  the  priest  could  complete  his 


THE  PEARLS  OF  LORETO.  31 

malediction,  De  la  Vega's  knife  had  flashed  through 
the  fire  of  the  cross.  The  priest  leaped  from  his 
feet,  then  rolled  over  and  down,  and  rebounded  from 
the  railing  of  the  sanctuary. 


V. 

YSABEL  sat  in  the  low  window-seat  of  her  bedroom, 
pretending  to  draw  the  threads  of  a  cambric  hand- 
kerchief. But  her  fingers  twitched,  and  her  eyes 
looked  oftener  down  the  hill  than  upon  the  delicate 
work  which  required  such  attention.  She  wore  a 
black  gown  flowered  with  yellow  roses,  and  a  slender 
ivory  cross  at  her  throat.  Her  hair  hung  in  two 
loose  braids,  sweeping  the  floor.  She  was  very  pale, 
and  her  pallor,  was  not  due  to  the  nightly  entertain- 
ments of  Monterey. 

Her  dueiia  sat  beside  her.  The  old  woman  was 
the  color  of  strong  coffee;  but  she,  too,  looked  as  if 
she  had  not  slept,  and  her  straight  old  lips  curved 
tenderly  whenever  she  raised  her  eyes  to  the  girl's 
face. 

There  was  no  carpet  on  the  floor  of  the  bedroom 
of  La  Favorita  of  Monterey,  the  heiress  of  Don 
Antonio  Herrera,  and  the  little  bedstead  in  the  cor- 
ner was  of  iron,  although  a  heavy  satin  coverlet 
trimmed  with  lace  was  on  it.  A  few  saints  looked 
down  from  the  walls ;  the  furniture  was  of  native 


32  THE  PEARLS  OF  LORETO. 

wood,  square  and  ugly,  but  it  was  almost  bidden 
under  fine  linen  elaborately  worked  with  the  desha- 
lados  of  Spain. 

The  supper  hour  was  over,  and  the  light  grew  dim. 
Ysabel  tossed  the  handkerchief  into  Dona  Juana's 
lap,  and  stared  through  the  grating.  Against  the 
faded  sky  a  huge  cloud,  shaped  like  a  fire-breathing 
dragon,  was  heavily  outlined.  The  smoky  shadows 
gathered  in  the  woods.  The  hoarse  boom  of  the  surf 
came  from  the  beach  ;  the  bay  was  uneasy,  and  the 
tide  was  high.  The  earth  had  quaked  in  the  morn- 
ing, and  a  wind-storm  fought  the  ocean.  The  gay, 
bright  laughter  of  women  floated  up  from  the  town. 
Monterey  had  taken  her  siesta,  enjoyed  her  supper, 
and  was  ready  to  dance  through  the  night  once  more. 

"  He  is  dead,"  said  Ysabel. 

"  Sure,"  said  the  old  woman. 

"  He  would  have  come  back  to  me  before  this." 

"  Sure." 

"  He  was  so  strong  and  so  different,  mamita." 

"  I  never  forget  his  eyes.    Very  bold  eyes." 

"  They  could  be  soft,-  macheppa." 

"  Sure.  It  is  time  thou  dressed  for  the  ball  at  the 
Custom-house,  niiiita." 

Ysabel  leaned  forward,  her  lips  parting.  A  man 
was  coming  up  the  hill.  He  was  gaunt ;  he  was 
burnt  almost  black.  Something  bulged  beneath  his 
serape. 

Doila  Juana  found  herself  suddenly  in  the  middle 
of  the  room.  Ysabel  darted  through  the  only  door, 
locking  it  behind  her.  The  indignant  duena  also 


THE  PEARLS  OF  LOEETO.  33 

recognized  the  man,  and  her  position.  She  trotted 
to  the  door  and  thumped  angrily  on  the  panel; 
sympathetic  as  she  was,  she  could  never  so  far  forget 
herself  as  to  permit  a  young  girl  to  talk  with  a  man 
unattended. 

"  Thou  shalt  not  go  to  the  ball  to-night,"  she  cried, 
shrilly.  "  Thou  shalt  be  locked  in  the  dark  room. 
Thou  shalt  be  sent  to  the  rancho.  Open !  open !  thou 
wicked  one.  Mother  of  God !  I  will  beat  thee  with 
my  own  hands." 

But  she  was  a  prisoner,  and  Ysabel  paid  no  atten- 
tion to  her  threats.  The  girl  was  in  the  sala,  and 
the  doors  were  open.  As  De  la  Vega  crossed  the 
corridor  and  entered  the  room  she  sank  upon  a  chair, 
covering  her  face  with  her  hands. 

He  strode  over  to  her,  and  flinging  his  scrape  from 
his  shoulder,  opened  the  mouth  of  a  sack  and  poured 
its  contents  into  her  lap.  Pearls  of  all  sizes  and 
shapes — pearls  black  and  pearls  white,  pearls  pink 
and  pearls  faintly  blue,  pearls  like  globes  and  pearls 
like  pears,  pearls  as  big  as  the  lobe  of  Pio  Pico's  ear, 
pearls  as  dainty  as  bubbles  of  frost — a  lapful  of 
gleaming,  luminous  pearls,  the  like  of  which  caballero 
had  never  brought  to  doila  before. 

For  a  moment  Ysabel  forgot  her  love  and  her  lover. 
The  dream  of  a  lifetime  was  reality.  She  was  the 
child  who  had  cried  for  the  moon  and  seen  it  tossed 
into  her  lap. 

She  ran  her  slim,  white  fingers  through  the  jewels. 
She  took  up  handfuls  and  let  them  run  slowly  back 
to  her  lap.  She  pressed  them  to  her  face  ;  she  kissed 
3 


34  THE  PEARLS  OF  LORETO. 

them  with  little  rapturous  cries.  She  laid  them 
against  her  breast  and  watched  them  chase  each 
other  down  her  black  gown.  Then  at  last  she  raised 
her  head  and  met  the  fierce  sneering  eyes  of  De  la 
Yega. 

"  So  it  is  as  I  might  have  known.  It  was  only  the 
pearls  you  wanted.  It  might  have  been  an  Indian 
slave  who  brought  them  to  you." 

She  took  the  sack  from  his  hand  and  poured  back 
the  pearls.  Then  she  laid  the  sack  on  the  floor  and 
stood  up.  She  was  no  longer  pale,  and  her  eyes 
were  brilliant  in  the  darkening  room. 

"  Yes,"  she  said ;  "  I  forgot  for  a  moment.  But 
during  many  terrible  weeks,  seiior,  my  tears  have 
not  been  for  the  pearls." 

The  sudden  light  that  was  De  la  Vega's  chiefest 
charm  sprang  to  his  eyes.  He  took  her  hands  and 
kissed  them  passionately. 

"  That  sack  of  pearls  would  be  a  poor  reward  for 
one  tear.  But  thou  hast  shed  them  for  me  ?  Say 
that  again.  Mi  alma !  mi  alma  !  " 

"  I  never  thought  of  the  pearls — at  least  not  often. 
At  last,  not  at  all.  I  have  been  very  unhappy, 
seiior.  Ay  !  "  The  maiden  reserve  which  had 
been  knit  like  steel  about  her  plastic  years  burst 
in  that  hour.  "  Thou  art  ill !  What  has  happened 
to  thee  ?  Ay,  Dios  !  what  it  is  to  be  a  woman  and 
to  suffer !  Thou  wilt  die  !  Oh,  Mother  of  God !  " 

"  I  shall  not  die.    Kiss  me,  Ysabel.     Surely  it  is 
time  now." 
v  But  she  drew  back  and  shook  her  head. 


THE  PEARLS  OF  LOEETO.  35 

He  exclaimed  impatiently,  but  would  not  resign 
her  hand.  "  Thou  meanest  that,  Ysabel  ?  " 

"  We  shall  be  married  soon — wait." 

"  I  had  hoped  thou  wouldst  grant  me  that.  For 
when  I  tell  thee  where  I  got  those  pearls  thou 
mayest  drive  me  from  thee  in  spite  of  thy  promise 
— drive  me  from  thee  with  the  curse  of  the  devout 
woman  on  thy  lips.  I  might  invent  some  excuse  to 
persuade  thee  to  fly  with  me  from  California  to- 
night, and  thou  wouldst  never  know.  But  I  am  a 
man — a  Spaniard — and  a  De  la  Vega !  I  shall  not 
lie  to  thee." 

She  looked  at  him  with  wide  eyes,  not  understand- 
ing, and  he  went  on,  his  face  savage  again,  his  voice 
harsh.  He  told  her  the  whole  story  of  that  night  in 
the  mission.  He  omitted  nothing — the  menacing 
cross,  the  sacrilegious  theft,  the  deliberate  murder ; 
the  pictures  were  painted  with  blood  and  fire.  She 
did  not  interrupt  him  with  cry  or  gasp,  but  her  ex- 
pression changed  many  times.  Horror  held  her 
eyes  for  a  time,  then  slowly  retreated,  and  his  own 
fierce  pride  looked  back  at  him.  She  lifted  her  head 
when  he  had  finished,  her  throat  throbbing,  her  nos- 
trils twitching. 

"  Thou  hast  done  that — for  me  ?  " 

"Ay,  Ysabel!" 

"  Thou  hast  murdered  thy  immortal  soul — for 
me?" 

«  Ysabel ! " 

"  Thou  lovest  me  like  that !  O  God,  in  what  like- 
ness hast  thou  made  me  ?  In  whatsoever  image  it 


BG  THE  PEARLS  OF  LOEETO. 

may  have  been,  I  thank  Thee — and  repudiate 
Thee ! " 

She  took  the  cross  from  her  throat  and  broke  it 
in  two  pieces  with  her  strong  white  fingers. 

"  Thou  art  lost,  eternally  damned ;  but  I  will  go 
down  to  hell  with  thee."  And  she  threw  herself 
suddenly  forward  and  kissed  him  on  the  mouth. 

For  a  moment  he  forgot  the  lesson  thrust  into  his 
brain  by  the  hideous  fingers  of  the  desert.  He  was 
almost  happy.  He  put  his  hands  about  her  warm 
face  after  a  time.  "  We  must  go  to-night,"  he  said. 
"  I  went  to  General  Castro's  to  change  my  clothes, 
and  learned  that  a  ship  sails  for  the  United  States 
to-night.  We  will  go  on  that.  I  dare  not  delay 
twenty-four  hours.  It  may  be  that  they  are  upon 
my  heels  now.  How  can  we  meet  ?  " 

Her  thoughts  had  traveled  faster  than  his  words, 
and  she  answered  at  once,  "  There  is  a  ball  at  the 
Custom-house  to-night.  I  will  go.  Thou  wilt  have 
a  boat  below  the  rocks.  Thou  knowest  that  the 
Custom-house  is  on  the  rocks  at  the  end  of  the  town, 
near  the  fort.  No  ?  It  will  be  easier  for  me  to  slip 
from  the  ball-room  than  from  this  house.  Only  tell 
me  where  thou  wilt  meet  me." 

"  The  ship  sails  at  midnight.  I  too  will  go  to  the 
ball;  for  with  me  thou  canst  escape  more  easily. 
Hast  thou  a  maid  thou  canst  trust  ?  " 

"  My  Luisa  is  faithful." 

"  Then  tell  her  to  be  on  the  beach  between  the 
rocks  of  the  Custom-house  and  the  fort  with  what 
thou  must  take  with  thee." 


PEAELS  OF  LORETO.  37 

Again  he  kissed  her  many  times,  but  softly. 
"  Wear  thy  pearls  to-night.  I  wish  to  see  thy 
triumphant  hour  in  Monterey." 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  "  I  shall  wear  the  pearls." 


VI. 


THE  corridor  of  the  Custom-house  had  been  en- 
closed to  protect  the  musicians  and  supper  table 
from  the  wind  and  fog.  The  store-room  had  been 
cleared,  the  floor  scrubbed,  the  walls  hung  with  the 
colors  of  Mexico.  All  in  honor  of  Pio  Pico,  again  in 
brief  exile  from  his  beloved  Los  Angeles.  The  Gov- 
ernor, blazing  with  diamonds,  stood  at  the  upper 
end  of  the  room  by  Doila  Modes te  Castro's  side. 
About  them  were  Castro  and  other  prominent  men 
of  Monterey,  all  talking  of  the  rumored  war  between 
the  United  States  and  Mexico,  and  prophesying 
various  results.  Neither  Pico  nor  Castro  looked 
amiable.  The  Governor  had  arrived  in  the  morning 
to  find  that  the  General  had  allowed  pasquinades 
representing  his  Excellency  in  no  complimentary 
light  to  disfigure  the  streets  of  Monterey.  Castro, 
when  taken  to  task,  had  replied  haughtily  that  it 
was  the  Governor's  place  to  look  after  his  own  dig- 
nity; he,  the  Commandante-General  of  the  army 
of  the  Californias,  had  more  important  matters  to 


88  THE  PEARLS  OF  LOEETO. 

attend  to.  The  result  had  been  a  furious  Avar  of 
words,  ending  in  a  larne  peace. 

"  Tell  us,  Excellency,"  said  Jose  Abrigo,  "  what 
will  be  the  outcome  ?  " 

"  The  Americans  can  have  us  if  they  wish,"  said 
Pio  Pico,  bitterly.  "  We  cannot  prevent." 

"  Never !  "  cried  Castro.  "  What  ?  We  cannot 
protect  ourselves  against  the  invasion  of  bandoleros  ? 
Do  yoti  forget  what  blood  stings  the  veins  of  the 
Calif ornian?  A  Spaniard  stand  with  folded  arms 
and  see  his  country  plucked  from  him  !  Oh,  sacri- 
lege !  They  will  never  have  our  Calif ornias  while  a 
Castro  lives  to  cut  them  down  !  " 

"  Bravo !  bravo  !  "  cried  many  voices. 

"  I  tell  you — "  began  Pio  Pico,  but  Dofia  Modeste 
interrupted  him.  "  No  more  talk  of  war  to-night," 
she  said,  peremptorily.  "  Where  is  Ysabel  ?  " 

"  She  sent  me  word  by  Doila^Juana  that  she  could 
not  make  herself  ready  in  time  to  come  with  me, 
but  would  follow  with  my  good  friend,  Don  Antonio, 
who  of  course  had  to  wait  for  her.  Tier  gown  was 
not  finished,  I  believe.  I  think  she  had  done  some- 
thing naughty,  and  that  Dona  Juana  had  tried  to 
punish  her,  but  had  not  succeeded.  The  old  lady 
looked  very  sad.  Ah,  here  is  Dona  Ysabel  now ! " 

"  How  lovely  she  is !  "  said  Doiia  Modeste.  "  I 
think—  What!  what!—" 

"  God  of  my  soul,"  exclaimed  Pio  Pico,  "  where 
did  she  get  those  pearls  ?  " 

The  crowd  near  the  door  had  parted,  and  Ysabel 
entered  on  the  arm  of  her  uncle.  Don  Antonio's 


THE  PEARLS  OF  LORETO.  39 

form  was  bent,  and  she  looked  taller  by  contrast. 
His  thin,  sharp  profile  was  outlined  against  her 
white  neck,  bared  for  the  first  time  to  the  eyes  of 
Monterey.  Her  shawl  had  just  been  laid  aside,  and 
he  was  near-sighted  and  did  not  notice  the  pearls. 

She  had  sewn  them  all  over  the  front  of  her  white 
silk  gown.  She  had  wound  them  in  the  black  coils 
of  her  hair.  They  wreathed  her  neck  and  roped  her 
arms.  Never  had  she  looked  so  beautiful.  Her 
great  green  eyes  were  as  radiant  as  spring.  Her 
lips  were  redder  than  blood.  A  pink  flame  burned 
in  her  oval  cheeks.  Her  head  moved  like  a  Cali- 
fornian  lily  on  its  stalk.  No  Monteriio  would  ever 
forget  her. 

"  El  Son ! "  cried  the  young  men,  with  one  accord. 
Her  magnificent  beauty  extinguished  every  other 
woman  in  the  room.  She  must  not  hide  her  light 
in  the  contradanza.  She  should  madden  all  eyes  at 
once. 

Ysabel  bent  her  head  and  glided  to  the  middle  of 
the  room.  The  other  women  moved  back,  their 
white  gowns  like  a  snow  bank  against  the  lurid 
walls.  The  thin,  sweet  music  of  the  instruments 
rose  above  the  boom  of  the  tide.  Ysabel  lifted  her 
dress  with  curving  arms,  displaying  arched  feet  clad 
in  flesh-colored  stockings  and  white  slippers,  and 
danced  El  Son. 

Her  little  feet  tapped  time  to  the  music;  she 
whirled  her  body  with  utmost  grace,  holding  her 
head  so  motionless  that  she  could  have  balanced  a 
glass  of  water  thereon.  She  was  inspired  that 


40  THE  PEARLS  OF  LOEETO. 

night ;  and  when,  in  the  midst  of  the  dance,  De  la 
Vega  entered  the  room,  a  sort  of  madness  possessed 
her.  She  invented  new  figures.  She  glided  back 
and  forth,  bending  and  swaying  and  doubling  until 
to  the  eyes  of  her  bewildered  admirers  the  outlines 
of  her  lovely  body  were  gone.  Even  the  women 
shouted  their  approval,  and  the  men  went  wild. 
They  pulled  their  pockets  inside  out  and  flung  hand- 
fuls  of  gold  at  her  feet.  Those  who  had  only  silver 
cursed  their  fate,  but  snatched  the  watches  from 
their  pockets,  the  rings  from  their  fingers,  and 
hurled  them  at  her  with  shouts  and  cheers.  They 
tore  the  lace  ruffles  from  their  shirts ;  they  rushed 
to  the  next  room  and  ripped  the  silver  eagles  from 
their  hats.  Even  Pio  Pico  flung  one  of  his  golden 
ropes  at  her  feet,  a  hot  blaze  in  his  old  ugly  face,  as 
he  cried  : 

"  Brava !  brava !  thou  Star  of  Monterey !  * 
Guido  Cabaiiares,  desperate  at  having  nothing 
more  to  sacrifice  to  his  idol,  sprang  upon  a  chair, 
and  was  about  to  tear  down  the  Mexican  flag,  when 
the  music  stopped  with  a  crash,  as  if  musicians  and 
instruments  had  been  overturned,  and  a  figure 
leaped  into  the  room. 

The  women  uttered  a  loud  cry  and  crossed  them- 
selves. Even  the  men  fell  back.  Ysabel's  swaying 
body  trembled  and  became  rigid.  De  la  Vega,  who 
had  watched  her  with  folded  arms,  too  entranced  to 
oft'er  her  anything  but  the  love  that  shook  him, 
turned  livid  to  his  throat.  A  friar,  his  hood  fallen 
back  from  his  stubbled  head,  his  brown  habit  stiff 


THE  PEARLS  OF  LOEETO.  41 

with  dirt,  smelling,  reeling  with  fatigue,  stood 
amongst  them.  Ills  eyes  were  deep  in  his  ashy  face. 
They  rolled  about  the  room  until  they  met  De  la 
Vega's. 

General  Castro  came  hastily  forward.  "What 
does  this  mean  ? "  he  asked.  "  What  do  you 
wish?" 

The  friar  raised  his  arm,  and  pointed  his  shaking 
finger  at  De  la  Vega. 

"  Kill  him !  "  he  said,  in  a  loud  hoarse  whisper. 
"  He  has  desecrated  the  Mother  of  God !  " 

Every  caballero  in  the  room  turned  upon  De 
la  Vega  with  furious  satisfaction.  Ysabel  had 
quickened  their  blood,  and  they  were  willing  to  cool 
it  in  vengeance  on  the  man  of  whom  they  were  still 
jealous,  and  whom  they  suspected  of  having  brought 
the  wondrous  pearls  which  covered  their  Favorita 
to-night. 

"  What  ?  What  ?  "  they  cried,  eagerly.  "  Has  he 
done  this  thing  ?  " 

"  He  has  robbed  the  Church.  He  has  stripped 
the  Blessed  Virgin  of  her  jewels.  He — has — mur- 
dered— a — priest  of  the  Holy  Catholic  Church." 

Horror  stayed  them  for  a  moment,  and  then  they 
rushed  at  De  la  Vega.  "  He  does  not  deny  it ! " 
they  cried.  "  Is  it  true  ?  Is  it  true  ?  "  and  they 
surged  about  him  hot  with  menace. 

"It  is  quite  true"  said  De  la  Vega,  coldly.  "I 
plundered  the  shrine  of  Loreto  and  murdered  its 
priest." 

The  women   panted  and  gasped;  for  a  moment 


42  THE  PEARLS  OF  LOHETO. 

even  the  men  were  stunned,  and  in  that  moment  an 
ominous  sound  mingled  with  the  roar  of  the  surf. 
Before  the  respite  was  over  Ysabel  had  reached  his 
side. 

"  He  did  it  for  me !  "  she  cried,  in  her  clear  trium- 
phant voice.  "  For  me  !  And  although  you  kill  us 
both,  I  am  the  proudest  woman  in  all  the  Californias, 
and  I  love  him." 

"  Good ! "  cried  Castro,  and  he  placed  himself 
before  them.  "  Stand  back,  every  one  of  you. 
What  ?  are  you  barbarians,  Indians,  that  you  would 
do  violence  to  a  guest  in  your  town  ?  What  if  he 
has  committed  a  crime  ?  Is  he  not  one  of  you,  then, 
that  you  offer  him  blood  instead  of  protection? 
Where  is  your  pride  of  caste?  your  hospitality? 
Oh,  perfidy  !  Fall  back,  and  leave  the  guest  of  your 
capital  to  those  who  are  compelled  to  judge  him." 

The  caballeros  shrank  back,  sullen  but  abashed. 
He  had  touched  the  quick  of  their  pride. 

"  Never  mind*! "  cried  the  friar.  "  You  cannot 
protect  him  from  that.  Listen !  " 

Had  the  bay  risen  about  the  Custom-house  ? 

"  What  is  that  ?  "  demanded  Castro,  sharply. 

"The  poor  of  Monterey;  those  who  love  their 
Cross  better  than  the  aristocrats  love  their  caste. 
They  know." 

De  la  Vega  caught  Ysabel  in  his  arms  and  dashed 
across  the  room  and  corridor.  His  knife  cut  a  long 
rift  in  the  canvas,  and  in  a  moment  they  stood  upon 
the  rocks.  The  shrieking  crowd  were  on  the  other 
side  of  the  Custom-house, 


THE  PEARLS  OF  LORETO.  43 

"Marcos  !  "  he  called  to  his  boatman,  "  Marcos ! " 

No  answer  came  but  the  waves  tugging  at  the 
rocks  not  two  feet  below  them.  He  could  see  noth- 
ing. The  fog  was  thick  as  night. 

"  He  is  not  here,  Ysabel.  We  must  swim.  Any- 
thing but  to  be  torn  to  pieces  by  those  wild-cats. 
Art  thou  afraid  ?  " 

«  No,"  she  said. 

He  folded  her  closely  with  one  arm,  and  felt  with 
his  foot  for  the  edge  of  the  rocks.  A  wild  roar 
came  from  behind.  A  dozen  pistol-shots  were  fired 
into  the  air.  De  l;i  Vega  reeled  suddenly.  "  I  am 
shot,  Ysabel,"  he  said,  his  knees  bending.  "  Not  in 
this  world,  my  love  !  " 

She  wound  her  arms  about  him,  and  dragging 
him  to  the  brow  of  the  rocks,  hurled  herself  out- 
ward, carrying  him  with  her.  The  waves  tossed 
them  on  high,  flung  them  against  the  rocks  and 
ground  them  there,  playing  with  them  like  a  lion, 
with  its  victim,  then  buried  them. 


THE  EARS  OF 
TWENTY   AMERICANS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

"  GOD  of  my  soul !  Do  not  speak  of  hope  to  me. 
Hope  ?  For  what  are  those  three  frigates,  swarming 
with  a  horde  of  foreign  bandits,  creeping  about  our 
bay  ?  For  what  have  the  persons  of  General  Vullejo 
and  Judge  Leese  been  seized  and  imprisoned  ?  Why 
does  a  strip  of  cotton,  painted  with  a  gaping  bear, 
flaunt  itself  above  Sonoma?  O,  abomination!  O, 
execrable  profanation  !  Mother  of  God,  open  thy 
ocean  and  suck  them  down  !  Smite  them  with 
pestilence  if  they  put  foot  in  our  capital !  Shrivel 
their  fingers  to  the  bone  if  they  dethrone  our  Aztec 
Eagle  and  flourish  their  stars  and  stripes  above 
our  fort!  O,  California!  That  thy  sons  and  thy 
daughters  should  live  to  see  thee  plucked  like  a  rose, 
by  the  usurper  !  And  why  ?  Why  ?  Not  because 
these  piratical  Americans  have  the  right  to  one  league 
of  our  land  ;  but  because,  Holy  Evangelists !  they 
want  it !  Our  lands  are  rich,  our  harbors  are  fine, 

45 


46          THE  EARS  OF  TWENTY  AMERICANS. 

gold  veins  our  valleys,  therefore  we  must  be  plucked. 
The  United  States  of  America  are  mightier  than 
Mexico,  therefore  they  sweep  down  upon  us  with 
mouths  wide  open.  Holy  God !  That  I  could  choke 
but  one  with  my  own  strong  fingers.  Oh!"Doila 
Eustaquia  paused  abruptly  and  smote  her  hands  to- 
gether, "  Oh,  that  I  were  a  man !  That  the  women 
of  California  were  men !  " 

On  this  pregnant  morning  of  July  seventh,  eight- 
een hundred  and  forty-six,  all  aristocratic  Monterey 
was  gathered  in  the  sala  of  Dofia  Modeste  Castro. 
The  hostess  smiled  sadly.  "  So  does  my  husband," 
she  said,  "  for  the  men  of  our  country  want  the  Amer- 
icans." 

"  And  why  ?  "  asked  one  of  the  young  men,  flick- 
ing a  particle  of  dust  from  his  silken  riding  jacket. 
"  We  shall  then  have  freedom  from  the  constant 
war  of  opposing  factions.  If  General  Castro  and 
Governor  Pico  are  not  calling  Juntas  in  which  to  de- 
nounce each  other,  a  Carillo  is  pitting  his  ambition 
against  an  Alvarado.  The  Gringos  will  rule  us 
lightly  and  bring  us  peace.  They  will  not  disturb 
our  grants,  and  will  give  us  rich  prices  for  our 
lands " 

"  Oh,  fool !  "  interrupted  Doiia  Eustaquia. 
"  Thrice  fool !  A  hundred  years  from  now,  Fer- 
nando Altimira,  and  our  names  will  be  forgotten  in 
California.  Fifty  years  from  now  and  our  walls 
will  tumble  upon  us  whilst  we  cook  our  beans  in 
the  rags  that  charity — American  charity — has  flung 
us  !  I  tell  you  that  the  hour  the  American  flag 


THE  EARS  OF  TWENTY  AMERICANS.          47 

waves  above  the  fort  of  Monterey  is  the  hour  of  the 
Calif  ornians'  doom.  We  have  lived  in  Arcadia — 
ingrates  that  you  are  to  complain — they  will  run 
over  us  like  ants  and  sting  us  to  death  !  " 

"  That  is  the  prediction  of  my  husband,"  said 
Dofia  Modeste.  "  Liberty,  Independence,  Decency, 
Honor,  how  long  will  they  be  his  watch- words  ?  " 

"  Not  a  day  longer  ! "  cried  Doiia  Eustaquia,  "  for 
the  men  of  California  are  cowards." 

"Cowards!  We?  No  man  should  say  that  to 
us !  "  The  caballeros  were  on  their  feet,  their  eyes 
flashing,  as  if  they  faced  in  uniform  the  navy  of 
the  United  States,  rather  than  confronted,  in  lace 
ruffles  and  silken  short  clothes,  an  angry,  scornful 
woman. 

"  Cowards ! "  continued  Fernando  Altimira.  "  Are 
not  men  flocking  about  General  Castro  at  San  Juan 
Bautista,  willing  to  die  in  a  cause  already  lost  ?  If 
our  towns  were  sacked  or  our  women  outraged 
would  not  the  weakest  of  us  fight  until  we  died  in 
our  blood?  But  what  is  coming  is  for  the  best, 
Dona  Eustaquia,  despite  your  prophecy  ;  and  as  we 
cannot  help  it — we,  a  few  thousand  men  against  a 
great  nation — we  resign  ourselves  because  we  are 
governed  by  reason  instead  of  by  passion.  No  one 
reverences  our  General  more  than  Fernando  Alti- 
mira. No  grander  man  ever  wore  a  uniform  !  But 
he  is  fighting  in  a  hopeless  cause,  and  the  fewer 
who  uphold  him  the  less  blood  will  flow,  and  the 
sooner  the  struggle  will  finish." 

Dona  Modeste  covered  her  beautiful  face  and  wept. 


48         THE  EARS  OF  TWENTY  AMERICANS. 

Many  of  the  women  sobbed  in  sympathy.  Bright 
eyes  from  beneath  gay  rebosas  or  delicate  mantillas, 
glanced  approvingly  at  the  speaker.  Brown  old  men 
and  women  stared  gloomily  at  the  floor.  But  the 
greater  number  followed  every  motion  of  their 
master-spirit,  Dona  Eustaquia  Ortega. 

She  walked  rapidly  up  and  down  the  long  room, 
too  excited  to  sit  down,  flinging  the  mantilla  back 
as  it  brushed  her  hot  cheek.  She  was  a  woman  not 
yet  forty,  and  very  handsome,  although  the  peach- 
iness  of  youth  had  left  her  face.  Her  features  were 
small  but  sharply  cut;  the  square  chin  and  firm 
mouth  had  the  lines  of  courage  and  violent  emotions  ; 
her  piercing,  intelligent  eyes  interpreted  a  terrible 
power  of  love  and  hate.  But  if  her  face  was  so 
strong  as  to  be  almost  unfeminine,  it  was  frank  and 
kind. 

Doiia  Eustaquia  might  watch  with  joy  her  bay 
open  and  engulf  the  hated  Americans,  but  she 
would  nurse  back  to  life  the  undrowned  bodies  flung 
upon  the  shore.  If  she  had  been  born  a  queen  she 
would  have  slain  in  anger,  but  she  would  not  have 
tortured.  General  Castro  had  flung  his  hat  at  her 
feet  many  times,  and  told  her  that  she  was  born  to 
command.  Even  the  nervous  irregularity  of  her 
step  to-day  could  not  affect  the  extreme  elegance  of 
her  carriage,  and  she  carried  her  small  head  with 
the  imperious  pride  of  a  sovereign.  She  did  not 
speak  again  for  a  moment,  but  as  she  passed  the 
group  of  young  men  at  the  end  of  the  room  her  eyes 
flashed  from  one  languid  face  to  another.  She  hated 


THE  EARS  OF  TWENTY  AMERICANS.         49 

their  rich  breeches  and  embroidered  jackets  buttoned 
with  silver  and  gold,  the  lace  handkerchief  knotted 
about  their  shapely  throat.  No  man  was  a  man 
who  did  not  wear  a  uniform. 

Don  -Fernando  regarded  her  with  a  mischievous 
smile  as  she  approached  him  a  second  time. 

"  I  predict,  also,"  he  said,  "  I  predict  that  our 
charming  Dona  Eustaquia  will  yet  wed  an  Amer- 
ican  " 

"  What !  "  she  turned  upon  him  with  the  fury  of 
a  lioness.  "  Hold  thy  prating  tongue !  I  marry  an 
American  ?  God  !  I  would  give  every  league  of  my 
ranches  for  a  necklace  made  from  the  ears  of  twenty 
Americans.  I  would  throw  my  jewels  to  the  pigs  if 
I  could  feel  here  upon  my  neck  the  proof  that  twenty 
American  heads  looked  ready  to  be  fired  from  the 
cannon  on  the  hill !  " 

Everybody  in  the  room  laughed,  and  the  atmos- 
phere felt  lighter.  Muslin  gowns  began  to  flutter, 
and  the  seal  of  disquiet  sat  less  heavily  upon  care- 
worn or  beautiful  faces.  But  before  the  respite  was 
a  moment  old  a  young  man  entered  hastily  from  the 
street,  and  throwing  his  hat  on  the  floor,  burst  into 
tears. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  the  words  came  mechanically  from 
every  one  in  the  room. 

The  herald  put  his  hand  to  his  throat  as  if  to  con- 
trol the  swelling  muscles.  "Two  hours  ago,"  he 
said,  "  Commander  Sloat  sent  one  Captain  William 
Mervine  on  shore  to  demand  of  our  Commandante 
the  surrender  of  the  town.  Don  Mariano  walked 


50         THE  EARS  OF  TWENTY  AMERICANS. 

the  floor,  wringing  his  hands,  until  a  quarter  of  an 
hour  ago,  when  he  sent  word  to  the  insolent  servant 
of  a  pirate-republic  that  he  had  no  authority  to  de- 
liver up  the  capital,  and  bade  him  go  to  San  Juan 
Bautista  and  confer  with  General  Castro.  "Where- 
upon the  American  thief  ordered  two  hundred  and 
fifty  of  his  men  to  embark  in  boats — do  not  you 
hear?" 

A  mighty  cheer  shook  the  air  amidst  the  thunder 
of  cannon;  then  another,  and  another. 

Every  lip  in  the  room  was  white. 

"What  is  that?"  asked  Doiia  Eustaquia.  Her 
voice  was  hardly  audible. 

"  They  have  raised  the  American  flag  upon  the 
Custom-house,"  said  the  herald. 

For  a  moment  no  one  moved ;  then  as  by  one  im- 
pulse, and  without  a  word,  Doiia  Modeste  Castro 
and  her  guests  rose  and  ran  through  the  streets  to 
the  Custom-house  on  the  edge  of  the  town. 

In  the  bay  were  three  frigates  of  twenty  guns 
each.  On  the  rocks,  in  the  street  by  the  Custom- 
house and  on-  its  corridors, was  a  small  army  of  men 
in  the  naval  uniform  of  the  United  States,  respectful 
but  determined.  About  them  and  the  little  man 
who  read  aloud  from  a  long  roll  of  paper,  surged 
the  aristocrats  and  the  rabble  of  the  town.  Men 
with  sunken  eyes  who  had  gambled  all  night,  leav- 
ing even  serape  and  sombrero  on  the  gaming  table ; 
girls  with  painted  face  staring  above  cheap  and 
gaudy  satins,  who  had  danced  at  fandangos  in  the 
booths  until  dawn,  then  wandered  about  the  beach, 


THE  EARS  OF  TWENTY  AMERICANS.         51 

too  curious  over  the  movements  of  the  American 
squadron  to  go  to  bed ;  shopkeepers,  black  and  rusty 
of  face,  smoking  big  pipes  with  the  air  of  philoso- 
phers ;  Indians  clad  in  a  single  garment  of  calico, 
falling  in  a  straight  line  from  the  neck;  eagle-beaked 
old  crones  with  black  shawl  over  their  head  ;  chil- 
dren wearing  only  a  smock  twisted  about  their  little 
waist  and  tied  in  a  knot  behind ;  a  few  American 
residents,  glancing  triumphantly  at  each  other; 
caballeros,  gay  in  the  silken  attire  of  summer,  sit- 
ting in  angry  disdain  upon  their  plunging,  superbly 
trapped  horses ;  last  of  all,  elegant  women  in  their 
lace  mantillas  and  flowered  rebosas,  weeping  and 
clinging  to  each  other.  Few  gave  ear  to  the  read- 
ing of  Sloat's  proclamation. 

Benicia,  the  daughter  of  Doiia  Eustaquia,  raised 
her  clasped  hands,  the  tears  streaming  from  her 
eyes.  "  Oh,  these  Americans !  How  I  hate  them ! " 
she  cried,  a  reflection  of  her  mother's  violent  spirit 
on  her  sweet  face. 

Doiia  Eustaquia  caught  the  girl's  hands  and  flung 
herself  upon  her  neck.  "Ay,  California!  Califor- 
nia !  "  she  cried  wildly.  "  My  country  is  flung  to  its 
knees  in  the  dirt !  " 

A  rose  from  the  upper  corridor  of  the  Custom- 
house, struck  her  daughter  full  in  the  face 


52         THE  EARS  Off  TWENTY  AMERICANS. 


CHAPTER  IT. 

THE  same  afternoon  Benicia  ran  into  the  sala 
where  her  mother  was  lying  on  a  sofa,  and  exclaimed 
excitedly,  "My  mother!  My  mother!  It  is  not  so 
bad.  The  Gringos  are  not  so  wicked  as  we  have 
thought.  The  proclamation  of  the  Commodore  Sloat 
has  been  pasted  on  all  the  walls  of  the  town,  and 
promises  that  our  grants  shall  be  secured  to  us 
under  the  new  government,  that  we  shall  elect 
our  own  alcaldes,  that  we  shall  continue  to  worship 
God  in  our  own  religion,  that  our  priests  shall  be 
protected,  that  we  shall  have  all  the  rights  and 
advantages  of  the  American  citizen " 

"  Stop ! "  cried  Doiia  Eustaquia,  springing  to  her 
feet.  Her  face  still  burned  with  the  bitter  experi- 
ence of  the  morning.  "  Tell  me  of  no  more  lying 
promises !  They  will  keep  their  word !  Ay,  I  do 
not  doubt  but  they  will  take  advantage  of  our  igno- 
rance, with  their  Yankee  sharpness !  I  know  them ! 
Do  not  speak  of  them  to  me  again.  If  it  must  be, 
it  must ;  and  at  least  I  have  thee."  She  caught  the 
girl  in  her  arms,  and  covered  the  flower-like  face 
with  passionate  kisses.  "  My  little  one !  My  dar- 
ling !  Thou  lovest  thy  mother — better  than  all  the 
world?  Tell  me!" 


THE  EARS  OF  TWENTY  AMERICANS.         53 

The  girl  pressed  her  soft,  red  lips  to  the  dark  face 
which  could  express  such  fierceness  of  love  and  hate. 

"My  mother!  Of  course  I  love  thee.  It  is  be- 
cause I  have  thee  that  I  do  not  take  the  fate  of  my 
country  to  deeper  heart.  So  long  as  they  do  not 
put  their  ugly  bayonets  between  us,  what  difference 
whether  the  eagle  or  the  stars  wave  above  the  fort?" 

"  Ah,  my  child,  thou  hast  not  that  love  of  country 
which  is  part  of  my  soul !  But  perhaps  it  is  as  well, 
for  thou  lovest  thy  mother  the  more.  Is  it  not  so, 
my  little  one  ?  " 

"  Surely,  my  mother ;  I  love  no  one  in  the  world 
but  you." 

Dona  Eustaquia  leaned  back  and  tapped  the  girl's 
fair  cheek  with  her  finger. 

"  Not  even  Don  Fernando  Altimira  ?  " 

"  No,  my  mother." 

"  Nor  Flujencio  Hernandez  ?  Nor  Juan  Perez  ? 
Nor  any  of  the  caballeros  who  serenade  beneath  thy 
window  ?  " 

"  I  love  their  music,  but  it  comes  as  sweetly  from 
one  throat  as  from  another." 

Her  mother  gave  a  long  sigh  of  relief.  "  And  yet 
I  would  have  thee  marry  some  day,  my  little  one. 
I  was  happy  with  thy  father — thanks  to  God  that 
he  did  not  live  to  see  this  day — I  was  as  happy, 
for  two  little  years,  as  this  poor  nature  of  ours  can 
be,  and  I  would  have  thee  be  the  same.  But  do  not 
hasten  to  leave  me  alone.  Thou  art  so  young! 
Thy  eyes  have  yet  the  roguishness  of  youth;  I 
would  not  see  love  flash  it  aside.  Thy  mouth  is 


54         THE  EARS  OF  TWENTY  AMERICANS. 

like  a  child's  ;  I  shall  shed  the  saddest  tears  of  my  life 
the  day  it  trembles  with  passion.  Dear  little  one ! 
Thou  hast  been  more  than  a  daughter  to  me ;  thou 
hast  been  my  only  companion.  I  have  striven  to 
impart  to  thee  the  ambition  of  thy  mother  and  the 
intellect  of  thy  father.  And  I  am  proud  of  thee, 
very,  very  proud  of  thee  !  " 

Benicia  pinched  her  mother's  chin,  her  mischiev- 
ous eyes  softening.  "  Ay,  my  mother,  I  have  clone 
my  little  best,  but  I  shall  never  be  you.  I  am 
afraid  I  love  to  dance  through  the  night  and  flirt 
my  breath  away  better  than  I  love  the  intellectual 
conversation  of  the  few  people  you  think  worthy  to 
sit  about  you  in  the  evenings.  I  am  like  a  little 
butterfly  sitting  on  the  mane  of  a  mountain  lion " 

"  Tush !  Tush !  Thou  knowest  more  than  any 
girl  in  Monterey,  and  I  am  satisfied  with  thee. 
Think  of  the  books  thou  hast  read,  the  languages 
thou  hast  learned  from  the  Senor  Hartnell.  Ay, 
my  little  one,  nobody  but  thou  wouldst  dare  to  say 
thou  cared  for  nothing  but  dancing  and  flirting, 
although  I  will  admit  that  even  Ysabel  Ilerrera 
could  scarce  rival  thee  at  either." 

"  Ay,  my  poor  Ysabel !  My  heart  breaks  every 
night  when  I  say  a  prayer  for  her."  She  tightened 
the  clasp  of  her  arms  and  pressed  her  face  close  to 
her  mother's.  "  Mamacita,  darling,"  she  said  coax- 
ingly,  "  I  have  a  big  favor  to  beg.  Ay,  an  enor- 
mous one  !  How  dare  I  ask  it  ?  " 

"  Aha !  What  is  it  ?  I  should  like  to  know.  I 
thought  thy  tenderness  was  a  little  anxious." 


THE  EARS  OF  TWENTY  AMERICANS.         55 

c/  Ay,  mamacita !  Do  not  refuse  me  or  it  will 
break  my  heart.  On  Wednesday  night,  Don 
Thomas  Larkin  gives  a  ball  at  his  house  to  the 
officers  of  the  American  squadron.  Oh,  mamacita  ! 
mamacita !  darling  !  do,  do,  let  me  go  !  " 

"  Benicia !  Thou  wouldst  meet  those  men  ?  Val- 
game  Dios  !  And  thou  art  a  child  of  mine !  " 

She .  flung  the  girl  from  her,  and  walked  rap- 
idly up  and  down  the  room,  Benicia  following  with 
her  little  white  hands  outstretched.  "  Dearest  one ; 
I  know  just  how  you  feel  about  it !  But  think  a 
moment.  They  have  come  to  stay.  They  will 
never  go.  We  shall  meet  them  everywhere — every 
night — every  day.  And  my  new  gown,  mamacita ! 
Tho  beautiful  silver  spangles  !  There  is  not  such  a 
gown  in  Monterey !  Ay,  I  must  go.  And  they  say 
the  Americans  hop  like  puppies  when  they  dance. 
I  low  I  shall  laugh  at  them!  And  it  is  not  once  in 
the  year  that  I  have  a  chance  to  speak  English,  and 
none  of  the  other  girls  can.  And  all  the  girls,  all 
the  girls,  all  the  girls,  will  go  to  this  ball.  Oh, 

mamacita ! " 

• 

Her  mother  was  obliged  to  laugh.  "Well,  well, 
I  cannot  refuse  thee  anything  ;  thou  knowest  that ! 
Go  to  the  ball !  Ay,  yi,  do  not  smother  me !  As 
thou  sayest— that  little  head  can  think — we  must 
meet  these  insolent  braggarts  sooner  or  later.  So  I 
would  not — "  her  cheeks  blanched  suddenly,  she 
caught  her  daughter's  face  between  her  hands,  and 
bent  her  piercing  eyes  above  the  girl's  soft  depths. 
"  Mother  of  God !  That  could  not  be.  My  child ! 


56          THE  EARS  OF  TWENTY  AMERICANS. 

Thou  couldst  never  love  an  American !     A  Gringo ! 
A  Protestant !     Holy  Mary !  " 

Benicia  threw  back  her  head  and  gave  a  long 
laugh — the  light,  rippling  laugh  of  a  girl  who  has 
scarcely  dreamed  of  lovers.  "  I  love  an  American  ? 
Oh,  my  mother  !  A  great,  big,  yellow-haired  bear ! 
When  I  only  want  to  laugh  at  their  dancing  !  No, 
mamacita,  when  I  love  an  American  thou  shalt 
have  his  ears  for  thy  necklace." 


CHAPTER  III. 

THOMAS  O.  LARKIN,  United  States  Consul  to  Cali- 
fornia until  the  occupation  left  him  without  duties, 
had  invited  Monterey  to  meet  the  officers  of  the 
Savannah,  Cyane,  and  Levant,  and  only  Dona  Mo- 
deste  Castro  had  declined.  At  ten  o'clock  the  sala  of 
his  large  house  on  the  rise  of  the  hill  was  thronged 
with  white-gowned  girls  sitting  demurely  behind 
the  wide  shoulders  of  coffee-colored  dowagers,  also 
in  white,  and  blazing  with  jewels.  The  young  ma- 
trons were  there,  too,  although  they  left  the  sala  at 
intervals  to  visit  the  room  set  apart  for  the  nurses 
and  children ;  no  Montereila  ever  left  her  little  ones 
at  home.  The  old  men  and  the  caballeros  wore  the 
black  coats  and  white  trousers  which  Monterey 
fashion  dictated  for  evening  wear ;  the  hair  of  the 
younger  men  was  braided  with  gay  ribbons,  and 
diamonds  flashed  in  the  lace  of  their  ruffles. 


THE  EARS  OF  TWENTY  AMERICANS.         57 

The  sala  was  on  the  second  floor ;  the  musicians 
sat  on  the  corridor  beyond  the  open  window  and 
scraped  their  fiddles  and  twanged  their  guitars, 
awaiting  the  coming  of  the  American  officers. 
Before  long  the  regular  tramp  of  many  feet  turning 
from  Alvarado  Street  up  the  little  Primera  del 
Este,  facing  Mr.  Larkin's  house,  made  dark  eyes 
flash,  lace  and  silken  gowns  flutter.  Benicia  and  a 
group  of  girls  were  standing  by  Dona  Eustaquia. 
They  opened  their  large  black  fans  as  if  to  wave 
back  the  pink  that  had  sprung  to  their  cheeks. 
Only  Benicia  held  her  head  saucily  back,  and  her 
large  brown  eyes  were  full  of  defiant  sparkles. 

"  Why  art  thou  so  excited,  Blandina  ?  "  she  asked 
of  a  girl  who  had  grasped  her  arm.  "  I  feel  as  if 
the  war  between  the  United  States  and  California 
began  to-night." 

"  Ay,  Benicia,  thou  hast  so  gay  a  spirit  that  noth- 
ing ever  frightens  thee  !  But,  Mary !  How  many 
they  are  !  They  tramp  as  if  they  would  go  through 
the  stair.  Ay,  the  poor  flag !  No  wonder — 

"Now,  do  not  cry  over-  the  flag  any  more. 
Ah!  there  is  not  one  to  compare  with  General 
Castro ! " 

The  character  of  the  Californian  sala  had  changed 
forever ;  the  blue  and  gold  of  the  United  States  had 
invaded  it. 

The  officers,  young  and  old,  looked  with  much  in- 
terest at  the  faces,  soft,  piquant,  tropical,  which  gave 
the  effect  of  pansies  looking  inquisitively  over  a 
snowdrift.  The  girls  returned  their  glances  with 


58         TIIE  EAES  OF  TWENTY  AMERICANS. 

approval,  for  they  were  as  fine  and  manly  a  set  of 
men  as  had  ever  faced  death  or  woman.  Ten 
minutes  later  California  and  the  United  States  were 
flirting  outrageously. 

Mr.  Larkin  presented  a  tall  officer  to  Benicia.  That 
the  young  man  was  very  well-looking  even  Benicia 
admitted.  True,  his  hair  was  golden,  but  it  was 
cut  short,  and  bore  no  resemblance  to  the  coat  of  a 
bear  ;  his  mustache  and  brows  were  brown ;  his 
gray  eyes  were  as  laughing  as  her  own. 

"I  suppose  you  do  not  speak  any  English — 
seiiorita,"  he  said  helplessly. 

"No?  I  spik  English  like  the  Spanish.  The 
Spanish  people  no  have  difficult  at  all  to  learn  the 
other  langues.  But  Seiior  Hartnell  he  say  it  no  is 
easy  at  all  for  the  English  to  spik  the  French  and 
the  Spanish,  so  I  suppose  you  no  spik  one  word  our 
langue,  no  ?  " 

He  gallantly  repressed  a  smile.  "  Thankfully  I 
may  say  that  I  do  not,  else  would  I  not  have  the 
pleasure  of  hearing  you  speak  English.  Never  have 
I  heard  it  so  charmingly  spoken  before." 

Benicia  took  her  skirt  between  the  tips  of  her 
fingers  and  swayed  her  graceful  body  forward,  as  a 
tule  bends  in  the  wind. 

"  You  like  dip  the  flag  of  the  conqueror  in  honey, 
seilor.  Ay?  We  need  have  one  compliment  for 
every  tear  that  fall  since  your  eagle  stab  his  beak  in 
the  neck  de  ours." 

"Ah!  the  loyal  women  of  Monterey!  I  have  no 
words  to  express  my  admiration  for  them,  seiiorita. 


THE  EARS  OF  TWENTY  AMERICANS.         59 

A  thousand  compliments  are  not  worth  one  tear." 

Benicia  turned  swiftly  to  her  mother,  her  eyes 
glittering  with  pleasure.  "  Mother,  you  hear !  You 
hear ! "  she  cried  in  Spanish.  "  These  Americans 
are  not  so  bad,  after  all." 

Dona  Eustaquia  gave  the  young  man  one  of  her  rare 
smiles ;  it  flashed  over  her  strong,  dark  face,  until 
the  light  of  youth  was  there  once  more. 

"Very  pretty  speech,"  she  said,  with  slow  pre- 
cision. "  I  thank  you,  Senor  Russell,  in  the  name 
of  the  women  of  Monterey." 

"By  Jove!  Madame — senora — I  assure  you  I 
never  felt  so  cut  up  in  my  life  as  when  I  saw  all 
those  beautiful  women  crying  down  there  by  the 
Custom-house.  I  am  a  good  American,  but  I  would 
rather  have  thrown  the  flag  under  your  feet  than 
have  seen  you  cry  like  that.  And  I  assure  you,  dear 
sefiora,  every  man  among  us  felt  the  same.  As  you 
have  been  good  enough  to  thank  me  in  the  name  of 
the  women  of  Monterey,  I,  in  behalf  of  the  officers 
of  the  United  States  squadron,  beg  that  you  will 
forgive  us." 

Dona  Eustaquia's  cheek  paled  again,  and  she  set 
her  lips  for  a  moment;  then  she  held  out  her  hand. 

"  Seiior,"  she  said,  "  we  are  conquered,  but  we  are 
Californians ;  and  although  we  do  not  bend  the  head, 
neither  do  we  turn  the  back.  We  have  invite  you 
to  our  houses,  and  we  cannot  treat  you  like  enemies. 
I  will  say  with — how  you  say  it — truth  ? — we  did 
hate  the  thought  that  you  come  and  take  the  coun- 
try that  was  ours.  But  all  is  over  and  cannot  be 


60          THE  EAES  OF  TWENTY  AMERICANS. 

change.  So,  it  is  better  we  are  good  friends  than 
poor  ones ;  and — and — my  house  is  open  to  you, 
senor." 

Russell  was  a  young  man  of  acute  perceptions ; 
moreover,  he  had  heard  of  Dofia  Eustaquia ;  he  di- 
vined in  part  the  mighty  effort  by  which  good  breed- 
ing and  philosophy  had  conquered  bitter  resentment. 
He  raised  the  little  white  hand  to  his  lips. 

"  I  would  that  I  were  twenty  men,  Senora.  Each 
would  be  your  devoted  servant." 

"  And  then  she  have  her  necklace !  "  cried  Benicia 
delightedly. 

"What  is  that  ?"  asked  Russell;  but  DonaEusta- 
quia  shook  her  fan  threateningly,  and  turned  away. 

"  I  no  tell  you  everything,"  said  Benicia,  "  so  no 
be  too  curiosa.  You  no  dance  the  contradanza,  no  ?  " 

"  I  regret  to  say  that  I  do  not.  But  this  is  a  plain 
waltz ;  will  you  not  dance  it  with  me  ?  " 

Benicia,  disregarding  the  angry  glances  of  ap- 
proaching caballeros,  laid  her  hand  on  the  officer's 
shoulder,  and  he  spun  her  down  the  room. 

"  Why,  you  no  dance  so  bad !  "  she  said  with  sur- 
prise. "I  think  always  the  Americanos  dance  so 
terreeblay." 

"  Who  could  not  dance  with  a  fairy  in  his  arms  ?  " 

"  What  funny  things  you  say.  I  never  been  called 
fairy  before." 

"  You  have  never  been  appreciated."  And  then, 
in  the  whirl- waltz  of  that  day,  both  lost  their  breath. 

When  the  dance  was  over  and  they  stood  near 
Dona  Eustaquia,  he  took  the  fan  from  Benicia's  hand 


THE  EARS  OF  TWENTY  AMERICANS.         61 

and  waved  it  slowly  before  her.  She  laughed  out- 
right. 

"You  think  I  am  so  tire  I  no  can  fan  myself  ?" 
she  demanded.  "  How  queer  are  these  Americanos  ! 
Why,  I  have  dance  for  three  days  and  three  nights 
and  never  estop." 

"Seiiorita!" 

"  Si,  seiior.  Oh,  we  estop  sometimes,  but  no  for 
long.  It  was  at  Sonoma  two  months  ago.  At  the 
house  de  General  Vallejo." 

"  You  certainly  are  able  to  fan  yourself  ;  but  it  is 
no  reflection  upon  your  muscle.  It  is  only  a  custom 
we  have." 

"  Then  I  think  much  better  you  no  have  the  cus- 
tom. You  no  look  like  a  man  at  all  when  you  fan 
like  a  girl." 

He  handed  her  back  the  fan  with  some  choler. 

"  Really,  senorita,  you  are.  very  frank.  I  suppose 
you  would  have  a  man  lie  in  a  hammock  all  day  and 
roll-cigaritos." 

"  Much  better  do  that  than  take  what  no  is  yours." 

"  Which  no  American  ever  did  !  " 

"  Excep'  when  they  pull  California  out  the  pocket 
de  Mexico." 

"  And  what  did  Mexico  do  first  ?  I  should  like  to 
know.  Did  she  not  threaten  the  United  States  with 
hostilities  for  a  year,  and  attack  a  small  detach- 
ment of  our  troops  with  a  force  of  seven  thousand 
men " 

"  No  make  any  difference  what  she  do.  Si  she  do 
wrong,  that  no  is  excuse  for  you  do  wrong." 


62         THE  EARS  OF  TWENTY  AMERICANS. 

Two  angry  young  people  faced  each  other. 

"  You  steal  our  country  and  insult  our  men.  But 
they  can  fight,  Madre  de  Dios  !  I  like  see  General 
Castro  take  your  little  Commodore  Sloat  by  the 
neck.  He  look  like  a  little  gray  rat." 

"  Commodore  Sloat  is  a  brave  and  able  man,  Miss 
Ortega,  and  no  officer  in  the  United  States  navy  will 
hear  him  insulted." 

"  Then  much  better  you  lock  up  the  ears." 

"My  dear  Mr.  Russell!  Benicia,  what  is  the 
matter?" 

Mr.  Larkin  stood  before  them,  an  amused  smile  on 
his  thin,  intellectual  face.  "  Come,  come,  have  we 
not  met  to-night  to  dance  the  waltz  of  peace  ?  My 
dear  children,  do  not  begin  the  war  when  the  war  is 
over.  Benicia,  your  most  humble  admirer  has  a 
favor  to  crave  of  you.  I  would  have  my  country- 
men learn  at  once  the  utmost  grace  of  the  Califor- 
nian.  Dance  El  Jarabe,  please,  and  with  Don 
Fernando  Altimira." 

Benicia  lifted  her  dainty  white  shoulders.  She 
was  not  unwilling  to  avenge  herself  upon  the 
American  by  dazzling  him  with  her  grace  and 
beauty.  Her  eye's  swift  invitation  brought  Don 
Fernando,  scowling,  to  her  side.  He  led  her  to  the 
middle  of  the  room  and  the  musicians  played  the 
stately  jig. 

Benicia  swept  one  glance  of  defiant  coquetry  at 
Russell  from  beneath  her  curling  lashes,  then  fixed 
her  eyes  upon  the  floor,  nor  raised  them  again.  She 
held  her  reed-like  body  very  erectly  and  took  either 


THE  EARS  OF  TWENTY  AMERICANS.         63 

side  of  her  spangled  skirt  in  the  tips  of  her  fingers, 
lifting  it  just  enough  to  show  the  arched  little  feet 
in  their  embroidered  stockings  and  satin  slippers. 
Don  Fernando  crossed  his  hands  behind  him,  and 
together  they  rattled  their  feet  on  the  floor  with 
dexterity  and  precision,  whilst  the  girls  sang  the 
words  of  the  dance.  The  officers  gave  them  genuine 
applause,  delighted  with  this  picturesque  fragment 
of  life  on  the  edge  of  the  Pacific.  Don  Fernando 
listened  to  their  demonstrations  with  sombre  con- 
tempt on  his  dark,  handsome  face ;  Benicia  indicated 
her  pleasure  by  sundry  archings  of  her  narrow 
brows,  or  coquettish  curves  of  her  red  lips.  Sud- 
denly she  made  a  deep  courtesy  and  ran  to  her  mother 
with  a  long,  sweeping  movement,  like  the  bending 
and  lifting  of  grain  in  the  wind.  As  she  approached 
Russell  he  took  a  rose  from  his  coat  and  threw  it  at 
her.  She  caught  it,  thrust  it  carelessly  in  one  of  her 
thick  braids,  and  the  next  moment  he  was  at  her 
side  again. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

DONA  EUSTAQUIA  slipped  from  the  crowd  and  out 
of  the  house.  Drawing  a  rebosa  about  her  head  she 
walked  swiftly  down  the  street  and  across  the  plaza. 
Sounds  of  ribaldry  came  from  the  lower  end  of  the 
town,  but  the  aristocratic  quarter  was  very  quiet, 
and  she  walked  unmolested  to  the  house  of  General 


64         THE  EAHS  OF  TWENTY  AMERICANS. 

Castro.  The  door  was  open  and  she  went  down 
the  long  hall  to  the  sleeping-room  of  Dona  Modeste. 
There  was  no  response  to  her  knock,  and  she  pushed 
open  the  door  and  entered.  The  room  was  lighted 
only  by  the  candles  on  the  altar,  but  Dona  Modeste 
was  not  in  the  big  mahogany  bed,  for  the  heavy 
satin  coverlit  was  still  over  it.  Dona  Eustaquia 
crossed  the  room  to  the  altar  and  lifted  in  her  arms 
the  small  figure  kneeling  there. 

"Pray  no  more,  my  friend,"  she  said.  "Our 
prayers  have  been  unheard,  and  thou  art  better  in 
bed  or  with  thy  friends." 

Doila  Modeste  threw  herself  wearily  into  a  chair, 
but  took  Doiia  Eustaquia's  hand  in  a  tight  clasp. 
Her  white  skin  shone  like  pearl  in  the  dim  light, 
and  with  her  black  hair  and  green,  tragic  eyes,  made 
her  look  like  a  wild  witch  queen,  for  suffering  nor 
humiliation  could  bend  that  stately  head. 

"  Religion  is  my  solace,"  she  said,  "  my  only  one ; 
for  I  have  not  a  brain  of  iron  nor  a  soul  of  fire  like 
thine.  And,  Eustaquia,  I  have  more  cause  to  pray 
to-night." 

"  It  is  true,  then,  that  Jose  is  in  retreat  ?  Ay, 
Mary!" 

"My  husband,  deserted  by  all  but  one  hundred 
men,  is  flying  southward  from  San  Juan  Bautista, 
I  have  it  from  the  Wash-Tub-Mail.  That  is  never 
wrong." 

"  In  grates  !  Traitors  !  But  it  is  true,  Modeste — 
surely,  no?— that  our  general  will  not  surrender? 
That  he  will  stand  against  the  Americans  ? " 


THE  EARS  OF  TWENTY  AMERICANS.         65 

"He  will  not  yield.  He  would  have  marched 
upon  Monterey  and  forced  them  to  give  him  battle 
here  but  for  this  base  desertion.  Now  he  will  go  to 
Los  Angeles  and  command  the  men  of  the  South  to 
rally  about  him." 

"  I  knew  that  he  would  not  kiss  the  boots  of  the 
Americans,  like  the  rest  of  our  men!  Oh,  the 
cowards!  I  could  almost  say  to-night  that  I  like 
better  the  Americans  than  the  men  of  my  own  race. 
They  are  Castros  !  I  shall  hate  their  flag  so  long  as 
life  is  in  me ;  but  I  cannot  hate  the  brave  men  who 
fight  for  it.  But  my  pain  is  light  to  thine.  Thy 
heart  is  wrung  and  I  am  sorry  for  thee." 

"  My  day  is  over.  Misfortune  is  upon  us.  Even 
if  my  husband's  life  is  spared — ay,  shall  I  ever  see 
him  again  ?  his  position  will  be  taken  from  him,  for 
the  Americans  will  conquer  in  the  end.  He  will  be 
Commandante-General  of  the  army  of  the  Californias 
no  longer,  but — Holy  God  !  A  ranchero  !  A  cabal- 
lero !  He  at  whose  back  all  California  has  galloped ! 
Thou  knowest  his  restless,  aspiring  soul,  Eustaquia, 
his  ambition,  his  passionate  love  of  California.  Can 
there  be  happiness  for  such .  a  man  humbled  to  the 
dust — no  future  !  no  hope  ?  Ay !  " — she  sprang  to 
her  feet  with  arms  uplifted,  her  small,  slender  form 
looking  twice  its  height  as  it  palpitated  against  the 
shadows,  "I  feel  the  bitterness  of  that  spirit!  I 
know  how  that  great  heart  is  torn.  And  he  is 
alone!"  She  flung  herself  across  Dona  Eustaquia's 
knees  and  burst  into  violent  sobbing. 

Dona  Eustaquia  laid  her  strong  arm  about  her 
5 


6G         TBE  EAttS  OF  TWENTY  AMERICANS. 

friend,  but  her  eyes  were  more  angry  than  soft. 
"Weep  no  more,  Modeste,"  she  said.  "Rather, 
arise  and  curse  those  who  have  flung  a  great  man 
into  the  dust.  But  comfort  thyself.  Who  can 
know?  Thy  husband,  weary  with  fighting,  dis- 
gusted with  men,  may  cling  the  closer  to  thee,  and 
with  thee  and  thy  children  forget  the  world  in  thy 
redwood  forests  or  between  the  golden  hills  of  thy 
ranches." 

Dona  Modeste  shook  her  head.  "  Thou  speakest 
the  words  of  kindness,  but  thou  knowest  Jose. 
Thou  knowest  that  he  would  not  be  content  to  be 
as  other  men.  And,  ay,  Eustaquia,  to  think  that 
it  was  opposite  our  own  dear  home,  our  favorite 
home,  that  the  American  flag  should  have  first  been 
raised !  Opposite  the  home  of  Jose  Castro ! " 

"To  perdition  with  Fremont!  Why  did  he,  of 
all  places,  select  San  Juan  Bautista  in  which  to 
hang  up  his  American  rag  ?  " 

"We  never  can  live  there  again.  The  Gabilan 
mountains  would  shut  out  the  very  face  of  the  sun 
from  my  husband." 

"  Do  not  weep,  my  Modeste ;  remember  thy  other 
beautiful  ranches.  God  of  my  soul ! "  she  added 
with  a  flash  of  humor,  "  I  revere  San  Juan  Bautista 
for  thy  husband's  sake,  but  I  weep  not  that  I -will 
visit  thee  there  no  more.  Every  day  I  think  to  hear 
that  the  shaking  earth  of  that  beautiful  valley  has 
opened  its  jaws  and  swallowed  every  hill  and  adobe. 
God  grant  that  Fremont's  hair  stood  up  more  than 
once.  But  go  to  bed,  my  friend.  Look,  I  will  put 


TEE  EARS  OF  TWENTY  AMERICANS.         67 

thee  there."  As  if  Doiia  Modeste  were  an  infant^ 
she  undressed  and  laid  her  between  the  linen  sheets 
with  their  elaborate  drawn  work,  then  made  her 
drink  a  glass  of  angelica,  folded  and  laid  away  the 
satin  coverlet,  and  left  the  house. 

She  walked  up  the  plaza  slowly,  holding  her  head 
a  little  back.  Monterey  at  that  time  was  infested  by 
dogs,  some  of  them  very  savage.  Dona  Eustaquia's 
strong  soul  had  little  acquaintance  with  fear,  and  on 
her  way  to  General  Castro's  house  she  had  paid  no 
attention,  to  the  snarling  muzzles  thrust  against  her 
gown.  But  suddenly  a  cadaverous  creature  sprang 
upon  her  with  a  savage  yelp,  and  would  have  caught 
her  by  the  throat  had  not  a  heavy  stick  cracked  its 
skull.  A  tall  officer  in  the  uniform  of  the  United 
States  navy  raised  his  cap  from  iron-gray  hair,  and 
looked  at  her  with  blue  eyes  as  piercing  as  her 
own. 

"  You  will  pardon  me,  madam,"  he  said,  "  if  I  in- 
sist upon  attending  you  to  your  door.  It  is  not  safe 
for  a  woman  to  walk  alone  in  the  streets  of  Monterey 
at  night." 

Dona  Eustaquia  bent  her  head  somewhat  haugh- 
tily. "  I  thank  you  much,  seiior,  for  your  kind  res- 
cue. I  would  not  like,  at  all,  to  be  eaten  by  the 
dogs.  But  I  not  like  to  trouble  you  to  walk  with 
me.  I  go  only  to  the  house  of  the  Senor  Larkin.  It 
is  there,  at  the  end  of  the  little  street  beyond  the 
plaza." 

"  My  dear  madam,  you  must  not  deprive  the 
United  States  of  the  pleasure  of  protecting  Cali- 


68         THE  EAES  OF  TWENTY  ANEEICANS. 

fornia.  Pray  grant  my  humble  request  to  walk  be- 
hind you  and  keep  off  the  dogs." 

Her  lips  pressed  each  other,  but  pride  put  down 
the  bitter  retort. 

"  Walk  by  me  if  you  wish,"  she  said  graciously. 
"Why  are  you  not  at  the  house  of  Don  Thomas 
Larkin  ?  " 

"  I  am  on  my  way  there  now.  Circumstances 
prevented  my  going  earlier."  His  companion  did 
not  seem,  disposed  to  pilot  the  conversation,  and  he 
continued,  lamely,  "  Have  you  noticed,  madam,  that 
the  English  frigate,  Collingwood,  is  anchored  in  the 
bay  ?  " 

"  I  saw  it  in  the  morning."  She  turned  to  him 
with  sudden  hope.  "  Have  they — the  English — 
come  to  help  California  ?  " 

"  I  am  afraid,  dear  madam,  that  they  came  to 
capture  California  at  the  first  whisper  of  war  be- 
tween Mexico  and  the  United  States ;  you  know 
that  England  has  always  cast  a  covetous  eye  upon 
your  fair  land.  It  is  said  that  the  English  admiral 
stormed  about  the  deck  in  a  mighty  rage  to-day 
when  he  saw  the  American  flag  flying  on  the  fort." 

"  All  are  alike ! "  she  exclaimed  bitterly,  then  con- 
trolled herself.  "  You — do  you  admeer  our  country, 
seiior  ?  Have  you  in  America  something  more  beau- 
tiful than  Monterey  ?  "  , 

The  officer  looked  about  him  enthusiastically,  glad 
of  change  of  topic,  for  he  suspected  to  whom  he  was 
talking.  "  Madam,  I  have  never  seen  anything 
more  perfect  than  this  beautiful  town  of  Monterey. 


THE  EARS  OF  TWENTY  AMERICANS.          69 

What  a  situation  !  What  exquisite  proportions  ! 
That  wide  curve  of  snow  white  sand  about  the  dark 
blue  bay  is  as  exact  a  crescent  as  if  cut  with  a  knife. 
And  that  semicircle  of  hills  behind  the  town  with 
its  pine  and  brush  forest  tapering  down  to  the  cres- 
cent's points  !  Nor  could  anything  be  more  pict- 
uresque than  this  scattered  little  town  with  its 
bright  red  tiles  above  the  white  walls  of  the  houses 
and  the  gray  walls  of  the  yards  ;  its  quaint  church 
surrounded  by  the  ruins  of  the  old  presidio,  its 
beautiful,  strangely-dressed  women  and  men  who 
make  this  corner  of  the  earth  resemble  the  pages  of 
some  romantic  old  picture  book " 

"  Ay  !  "  she  interrupted  him.  "  Much  better  you 
feel  proud  that  you  conquer  us  ;  for  surely,  seilor, 
California  shall  shine  like  a  diamond  in  the  very 
center  of  America's  crown."  Then  she  held  out  her 
hand  impulsively.  "  Mucho  gracias,  seilor — pardon 
— thank  you  very  much.  If  you  love  my  country, 
sefior,  you  must  be  my  friend  and  the  friend  of  my 
daughter.  I  am  the  Senora  Doiia  Eustaquia  Carillo 
de  Ortega,  and  my  house  is  there  on  the  hill — you 
can  see  the  light,  no  ?  Always  we  shall  be  glad  to 
see  you." 

He  doffed  his  cap  again  and  bent  over  her  hand. 

"  And  I,  John  Brotherton,  a  humble  captain  in  the 
United  States  navy,  most  sincerely  thank  the  most 
famous  woman  of  Monterey  for  her  gracious  hospi- 
tality. And  if  I  abuse  it,  lay  it  to  the  enthusiasm 
of  the  American  who  is  not  the  conquerer  but  the 
conquered." 


70          TT1E  EARS  OF  TWENTY  AMERICANS. 

"  That  was  very  pretty — speech.  When  you  abuse 
me  I  put  you  out  the  door.  This  is  the  house 
of  Don  Thomas  Larkin,  where  is  the  ball.  You 
come  in,  no  ?  You  like  I  take  your  arm  ?  Very 
well." 

And  so  the  articles  of  peace  were  signed. 


CHAPTER  V. 

"  YES,  yes  indeed,  Blandina,"  exclaimed  Benicia, 
"  they  had  no  chance  at  all  last  night,  for  we  danced 
until  dawn,  and  perhaps  they  were  afraid  of  Don 
Thomas  Larkin.  But  we  will  talk  and  have 
music  to-night,  and  those  fine  new  tables  that 
came  on  the  last  ship  from  Boston  must  not  be  de- 
stroyed." 

"  Well,  if  you  really  think,"  said  Blandina,  who 
always  thought  exactly  as  Benicia  did.  She  opened 
a  door  and  called, 

"  Flujencio." 

"  Well,  my  sister." 

A  dreamy  looking  young  man  in  short  jacket  and 
trousers  of  red  silk  entered  the  room,  sombrero  in 
one  hand,  a  cigarito  in  the  other. 

"  Flujencio,  thou  knowest  it  is  said  that  these 
1  Yankees  '  always  '  whittle '  everything.  We  are 
afraid  that  they  will  spoil  the  furniture  to-night ;  so 
tell  one  of  the  servants  to  cut  a  hundred  pine  slugs, 


THE  EARS  OF  TWENTY  AMERICANS.         71 

and  you  go  down  to  the  store,  and  buy  a  box  of  pen- 
knives. Then  they  will  have  plenty  to  amuse  them- 
selves with  and  will  not  cut  the  furniture." 

"  True  !  True  !  What  a  good  idea  !  Was  it 
Benicia's  ?  "  He  gave  her  a  glance  of  languid  adora- 
tion. "  I  will  buy  those  knives  at  once,  before  I  for- 
get it ; "  and  he  tossed  the  sombrero  on  his  curls 
and  strode  out  of  the  house. 

"  How  dost  thou  like  the  Senor  Lieutenant  Russell, 
Benicia  ?  " 

Benicia  lifted  her  chin,  but  her  cheeks  became 
very  pink. 

"  Well  enough.  But  he  is  like  all  the  Americans, 
very  proud,  and  thinks  too  well  of  his  hateful  coun- 
try. But  I  shall  teach  him  how  to  flirt.  'He  thinks 
he  can,  but  he  cannot." 

"  Thou  canst  do  it,  Benicia — look  !    Look  !  " 

Lieutenant  Russell  and  a  brother  officer  were 
sauntering  slowly  by  and  looking  straight  through 
the  grated  window  at  the  beautiful  girls  in  their 
gayly  flowered  gowns.  They  raised  their  cap,  and 
the  girls  bent  their  slender  neck,  but  dared  not 
speak,  for  Dona  Francesca  Hernandez  was  in  the 
next  room  and  the  door  was  open.  Immediately 
following  the  American  officers  came  Don  Fernando 
Altimira  on  horseback.  He  scowled  as  he  saw  the 
erect,  swinging  figures  of  the  conquerors,  but  Beni- 
cia kissed  the  tips  of  her  fingers  as  he  flung  his 
sombrero  to  the  ground,  and  he  galloped,  smiling, 
on  his  way. 

That  night  the  officers  of  the  United  States  squad- 


72         THE  EAES  OF  TWENTY  AMERICANS. 

ron  met  the  society  of  Monterey  at  the  house  of 
Don  Jorje  Hernandez.  After  the  contradanza,  to 
which  they  could  only  be  admiring  spectators,  much 
to  the  delight  of  the  caballeros,  Benicia  took  the 
guitar  presented  by  Flujencio,  and  letting  her  head 
droop  a  little  to  one  side  like  a  lily  bent  on  its  stalk 
by  the  breeze,  sang  the  most  coquettish  song  she 
knew.  Her  mahogany  brown  hair  hung  unconfined 
over  her  white  shoulders  and  gown  of  embroidered 
silk  with  its  pointed  waist  and  full  skirt.  Her 
large,  brown  eyes  were  alternately  mischievous  and 
tender,  now  and  again  lighted  by  a  sudden  flash. 
Her  cheeks  were  pink;  her  round,  baby-like  arms 
curved  with  all  the  grace  of  the  Spanish  woman. 
As  she  finished  the  song  she  dropped  her  eyelids 
for  a  moment,  then  raised  them  slowly  and  looked 
straight  at  Russell. 

"  By  Jove,  Ned,  you  are  a  lucky  dog ! "  said  a 
brother  officer.  "  She's  the  prettiest  girl  in  the 
room !  Why  don't  you  fling  your  hat  at  her  feet, 
as  these  ardent  Calif ornians  do?" 

"  My  cap  is  in  the  next  room,  but  I  will  go  over 
and  fling  myself  there  instead." 

Russell  crossed  the  room  and  sat  down  beside 
Benicia. 

"  I  should  like  to  hear  you  sing  under  those 
cypresses  out  on  the  ocean  about  six  or  eight  miles 
from  here,"  he  said  to  her.  "  I  rode  down  the  coast 
yesterday.  Jove !  what  a  coast  it  is !  " 

"  We  will  have  a  merienda  there  on  some  evening," 
said  Doiia  Eustaquia,  who  sat  beside  her  daughter. 


THE  EARS  OF  TWENTY  AMERICANS.          73 

"It  is  very  beautiful  on  the  big  rocks  to  watch  the 
ocean,  under  the  moonlight." 

"  A  merienda  ?  " 

"  A  peek-neek." 

«  Good !     You  will  not  forget  that?  " 

She  smiled  at  his  boyishness.  "  It  will  be  at  the 
next  moon,  I  promise." 

"  What  is  this  solemn  promise  ?  "  asked  Captain 
Brotherton,  joining  the  group. 

"  A  moonlight  picnic  out  on  those  rocks — the  ones 
with  the  cypresses !  "  exclaimed  Russell. 

"  You  look  about  ten,"  said  Brotherton,  and  then 
he  turned  to  Don  a  Eustaquia.  "  You  will  take  me? 
too  ?  I  am  willing  to  ask  it  on  my  knees." 

"I  sing  for  you  myself  in  return  for  the  books 
you  send  me  to-day,  seilor." 

"That  is  compound  interest  indeed,  madam. 
When  you  told  me  last  evening  that  you  were  fond 
of  reading,  I  was  very  proud,  I  assure  you,  to  be 
able  to  add  to  your  pleasure."  He  took  a  chair  and 
regarded  her  for  a  moment,  then  glanced  about  the 
room.  "  You  look — pardon  me — as  if  you  had  read 
a  great  deal  more  than  the  majority  of  these  lovely, 
soft-eyed  women." 

Her  eyes  flashed  with  enthusiasm.  "  Seiior,  I 
never  can  tell  you  what  friends  the  books  have  been 
to  me !  No ;  the  women  of  California — or  but  a  few 
• — care  not  for  the  books ;  but  I  have  a  great  ambi- 
tion in  my  mind,  senor.  I  was  not  a  man,  so  it  was 
not  possible  for  me  to  be  a  general  like  my  husband 
or  Jose  Castro,  nor  a  great  politician  like  Alvarado 


74         THE  EARS  OF  TWENTY  AMERICANS. 

or  Diego  Estenega ;  but  I  could  learn,  I  could  know. 
From  every  bark  and  ship  I  bought  the  books,  and 
for  many  sent  to  Boston.  Ay,  you  are  very  happy, 
senor,  to  have  so  many  books  in  your  country !  It 
is  told  that  you  can  go  any  time,  any  hour,  to  the 
store  and  buy  them.  Do  they  say  true  ?  " 

"  Surely,  dear  madam.  It  seems  strange  to  meet 
a  woman  so  ambitious  in  this  pleasure-loving  coun- 
try. I  wonder  you  do  not  come  to  our  Eastern 
States  to  live.  You  would  find  a  thousand  things 
to  interest  and  amuse " 

"What!  I  leave  California?  Not  for  all  the 
books  in  the  world,  senor." 

"Then  the  books  must  come  to  you.  I,  fortu- 
nately, am  somewhat  of  a  student  myself,  and  have 
a  small  library  with  me.  I  need  hardly  say  that  they 
are  all  at  your  disposal.  But  what  do  you  mean  by 
your  great  politicians  ?  I  regret  to  say  that  I  know 
nothing  whatever  of  the  history  of  your  country. 
Will  you  forgive  my  ignorance  and  tell  me  some- 
thing of  these  men  ?  " 

"  I  well  can  understand  that  you  know  nothing 
of  us,  for  it  is  like  we  live  on  another  planet.  We 
not  even  have  the  newspapers  like  you.  Alvarado 
is  the  greatest  of  our  men — except  Jose'  Castro — 
the  more  wise  of  our  governors,  and  very  learned, 
very  ambitious,  very  proud.  He  liked  to  make  Cal- 
ifornia independent  of  Mexico,  was  it  possible,  but 
we  are  too  few,  and  he  love  California  too  much  to 
go  to  war  for  nothing.  If  he  been  born  in  your 
country,  he  would  been  famous,  like  Washington 


THE  EARS  OF  TWENTY  AMERICANS.         75 

who  he  admeer  so  much.  Estenega — Diego  Este- 
nega — "  she  paused  a  moment,  "  he  will  not  have  a 
place  even  in  the  history  of  California.  I  call  him  a 
great  politician,  for  he  have  the  genius,  but — if  you 
not  have  heard  of  him,  then,  of  course,  you  not  have 
heard  his  story — the  story  of  Diego  Estenega  and  of 
Chonita  Iturbi  y  Moncada,  The  Doomswoman  ?  " 

"  I  have  not.  But  tell  it  to  me.  I  should  like  to 
hear  it." 

"  Not  now,  seiior.  Perhaps  never.  Only  I  know 
all  that  story.  I  see  much,  and  they,  Diego  and 
Chonita,  tell  me  the  rest,  and  I  read  her  journal.  I 
not  know  why,  but  I  feel  I  tell  you  that  story  some- 
time. I  never  tell  any  one  else.  No  ask  other  to 
tell  you,  for  only  I  know  all." 

"  I  will  not.    But  you  rouse  my  curiosity." 

"  No,  no,  I  tell  you  nothing  now.  Talk  to  me  of  the 
books."  And  then  a  strictly  literary  conversa- 
tion ensued,  which  lasted  until  the  end  of  the 
evening. 

Benicia  sang  another  song,  and  a  half  dozen 
caballeros  stood  about  her,  regarding  her  with 
glances  languid,  passionate,  sentimental,  reproach- 
ful, determined,  hopeless.  Russell,  leaning  back  in 
his  chair,  listened  to  the  innocent,  thrilling  voice  of 
the  girl,  and  watched  her  adorers,  amused  and  stim- 
ulated. The  Californian  beauty  was  like  no  other 
woman  he  had  known,  and  the  victory  would  be  as 
signal  as  the  capture  of  Monterey.  "More  blood, 
perhaps,"  he  thought,  "  but  a  victory  is  a  poor  affair 
unless  painted  in  red.  It  will  do  these  seething 


76         THE  EARS  OF  TWENTY  AMERICANS. 

caballeros  good  to  learn  that  American  blood  is  quite 
as  swift  as  Californian." 

As  the  song  finished,  the  musicians  began  a  waltz ; 
Russell  took  the  guitar  from  Benicia's  hand  and  laid 
it  on  the  floor. 

"  This  waltz  is  mine,  senorita,"  he  said. 

"I  no  know " 

"  Senorita ! "  said  Don  Fernando  Altimira,  passion- 
ately, "  the  first  waltz  is  always  mine.  Thou  wilt 
not  give  it  to  the  American  ?  " 

"  And  the  next  is  mine  !  " 

"  And  the  next  contradanza  !  " 

The  girl's  faithful  retinue  protested  for  their 
rights.  Russell  could  not  understand,  but  he  inter- 
preted their  glances,  and  bent  his  lips  to  Benicia's 
ear.  That  ear  was  pink  and  her  eyes  were  bright 
with  roguish  triumph. 

"I  want  this  dance,  dear  senorita.  I  may  go 
away  any  day.  Orders  may  come  to-morrow  which 
will  send  me  where  I  can  never  see  you  again.  You 
can  dance  with  these  men  every  night  of  the 
year " 

"I  give  to  you,"  said  Benicia,  rising  hurriedly. 
"  We  must  be  hospitable  to  the  stranger  who  comes 
to-day  and  leaves  to-morrow,"  she  said  in  Spanish 
to  the  other  men.  "  I  have  plenty  more  dances  for 
you." 

After  the  dance,  salads  and  cakes,  claret  and 
water  were  brought  to  the  women  by  Indian  girls, 
who  glided  about  the  room  with  borrowed  grace, 
their  head  erect,  the  silver  trays  held  well  out. 


THE  EARS  OF  TWENTY  AMERICANS.         77 

They  wore  bright  red  skirt  and  white  smock  of 
fine  embroidered  linen,  open  at  the  throat,  the 
sleeves  very  short.  Their  coarse  hair  hung  in  heavy 
braids,  and  their  bright  little  eyes  twinkled  in  square 
faces  scrubbed  until  they  shone  like  copper. 

"  Captain,"  said  Russell  to  Brotherton,  as  the  men 
followed  the  host  into  the  supper-room,  "  let  us  buy 
a  ranch,  marry  two  of  these  stunning  girls,  and  lie 
around  in  hammocks  whilst  these  Western  houris 
bring  us  aguardiente  and  soda.  What  an  improve- 
ment on  Byron  and  Tom  Moore  !  It  is  all  so  unhack- 
neyed and  unexpected.  In  spite  of  Dana  and  Rob- 
inson I  expected  mud  huts  and  whooping  savages. 
This  is  Arcadia,  and  the  women  are  the  most  elegant 
in  America." 

"Look  here,  Ned,"  said  his  captain,  "you  had 
better  do  less  flirting  and  more  thinking  while  you 
are  in  this  odd  country.  Your  talents  will  get  rusty, 
but  you  can  rub  them  up  when  you  get  home. 
Neither  California!!  men  nor  women  are  to  be  trifled 
with.  This  is  the  land  of  passion,  not  of  drawing- 
room  sentiment." 

"  Perhaps  I  am  more  serious  than  you  think. 
What  is  the  matter  ?"  He  spoke  to  a  brother  officer 
who  had  joined  them  and  was  laughing  immoder- 
ately. 

"Do  you  see  those  Californians  grinning  over 
there  ? "  The  speaker  beckoned  to  a  group  of  offi- 
cers, who  joined  him  at  once.  "  What  job  do  you 
suppose  they  have  put  up  on  us  ?  What  do  you 
suppose  that  mysterious  table  in  the  sala  means, 


78         THE  EAES  OF  TWENTY  AMERICANS. 

with  its  pen-knives  and  wooden  sticks  ?  I  thought 
it  was  a  charity  bazaar.  Well,  it  is  nothing  more 
nor  less  than  a  trick  to  keep  us  from  whittling  up 
the  furniture.  We  are  all  Yankees  to  them,  you 
know.  Preserve  my  Spanish !  " 

The  officers  shouted  with  delight.  They  marched 
solemnly  back  into  the  sala  and  seating  themselves 
in  a  deep  circle  about  the  table,  whittled  the  slugs 
all  over  the  floor,  much  to  the  satisfaction  of  the 
Californians. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

AFTER  the  entertainment  was  over,  Russell  strolled 
about  the  town.  The  new  moon  was  on  the  sky,  and 
stars  thick  and  bright ;  but  dark  corners  were  every- 
where, and  he  kept  his  hand  on  his  pistol.  He  found 
himself  before  the  long,  low  house  of  Dona  Eustaquia 
Ortega.  Not  a  light  glimmered ;  the  shutters  were 
of  solid  wood.  He  walked  up  and  down,  trying  to 
guess  which  was  Benicia's  room. 

"  I  am  growing  as  romantic  as  a  Californian,"  he 
thought;  "but  this  wonderful  country  pours  its 
color  all  through  one's  nature.  If  I  could  find  her 
window  I  believe  I  should  serenade  her  in  true 
Spanish  fashion.  By  Jove,  I  remember  now,  she 
said  something  about  looking  through  her  window 
at  the  pines  on  the  hill.  It  must  be  at  the  back  of 
the  house,  and  how  am  I  going  to  get  over  that  great 


THE  EAB8  OF  TWENTY  AMERICANS.         79 

adobe  wall  ?  That  gate  is  probably  fastened  with 
an  iron  bar — ah ! " 

He  had  walked  to  the  corner  of  the  wall  surround- 
ing the  large  yard  behind  and  at  both  sides  of  Doiia 
Eustaquia's  house,  and  he  saw,  ascending  a  ladder, 
a  tall  figure,  draped  in  a  serape,  its  face  concealed 
by  the  shadow  of  a  sombrero.  He  drew  his  pistol, 
then  laughed  at  himself,  although  not  without  annoy- 
ance. "  A  rival ;  and  he  has  got  ahead  of  me.  He 
is  going  to  serenade  her." 

The  caballero  seated  himself  uncomfortably  on  the 
tiles  that  roofed  the  wall,  removed  his  sombrero, 
and  Russell  recognized  Fernando  Altimira.  A  mo- 
ment later  the  sweet,  thin  chords  of  the  guitar  quiv- 
ered in  the  quiet  air,  and  a  tenor,  so  fine  that  even 
Russell  stood  entranced,  sang  to  Benicia  one  of  the 
old  songs  of  Monterey : 

EL  SUSPIRO. 

Una  mirada  un  suspiro 
Una  lagrina  querida 
Ese  balsamo  a  la  herida 
Que  abriste  en  mi  corazon  ; 

For  esa  lagrima  cara 
Objeto  de  mi  termina 
Wo  te  ame  bella  criatura 
Desde  que  te  villorar. 

Te  a  cuerdas  de  aquella  noche 
En  que  triste  y  abatida 
Una  lagrima  querida 
Vi  de  tus  ojos  brotar. 


80          THE  EARS  OF  TWENTY  AMERICANS. 

Although  Russell  was  at  the  base  of  the  high  wall 
he  saw  that  a  light  flashed.  The  light  was  followed 
by  the  clapping  of  little  hands.  "  Jove !  "  he  thought, 
"  am  I  really  jealous  ?  But  damn  that  Calif  ornian ! " 

Altimira  sang  two  more  songs  and  was  rewarded 
by  the  same  demonstrations.  As  he  descended  the 
ladder  and  reached  the  open  street  he  met  Russell 
face  to  face.  The  two  men  regarded  each  other  for 
a  moment.  The  Californian's  handsome  face  was 
distorted  by  a  passionate  scowl ;  Russell  was  calmer, 
but  his  brows  were  lowered. 

Altimira  flung  the  ladder  to  the  ground,  but  fire- 
blooded  as  he  was  the  politeness  of  his  race  did  not 
desert  him,  and  his  struggle  with  English  flung  oil 
upon  his  passion. 

"  Seiior,"  he  said,  "  I  no  know  what  you  do  it  by 
the  house  of  the  Seiiorita  Benicia  so  late  in  the  night. 
I  suppose  you  have  the  right  to  walk  in  the  town  si 
it  please  yourself." 

"  Have  I  not  the  same  right  as  you — to  serenade 
the  Seiiorita  Benicia  ?  If  I  had  known  her  room  I 
should  have  been  on  the  wall  before  you." 

Altimira's  face  flushed  with  triumph.  "  I  think 
the  Seiiorita  Benicia  no  care  for  the  English  song, 
senor.  She  love  the  sweet  words  of  her  country; 
she  no  care  for  words  of  ice." 

Russell  smiled.  "Our  language  may  not  be  as 
elastic  as  yours,  Don  Fernando,  but  it  is  a  good  deal 
more  sincere.  And  it  can  express  as  much  and  per- 
haps  " 

"  You  love  Benicia  ?  "  interrupted  Altimira  fiercely. 


THE  EARS  OF  TWENTY  AMERICANS.         81 

"  I  admire  the  Senorita  Ortega  tremendously.  But 
I  have  seen  her  only  twice,  and  although  we  may 
love  longer,  we  take  more  time  to  get  there,  perhaps, 
than  you  do." 

"  Ay  I  Dios  de  mi  vida  !  You  have  the  heart  of 
rock !  You  chip  it  off  in  little  pieces,  one  to-day, 
another  to-morrow,  and  give  to  the  woman.  I,  seiior, 
I  love  Benicia,  and  I  marry  her.  You  understand  ? 
Si  you  take  her  I  cut  the  heart  from  your  body. 
You  understand  ?  " 

"  I  understand.  We  understand  each  other." 
Russell  lifted  his  cap.  The  Calif ornian  took  his 
sombrero  from  his  head  and  made  a  long,  sweeping 
bow ;  and  the  two  men  parted. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

ON  the  twenty-third  of  July,  Commodore  Sloat 
transferred  his  authority  to  Commodore  Stockton, 
and  the  new  commander  of  the  Pacific  squadron 
organized  the  California  Battalion  of  Mounted  Rifle- 
men, appointing  Fremont  major  and  Gillespie  cap- 
tain. He  ordered  them  South  at  once  to  intercept 
Castro.  On  the  twenty -eighth,  Stockton  issued  a 
proclamation  in  which  he  asserted  that  Mexico  was 
the  instigator  of  the  present  difficulties,  and  justified 
the  United  States  in  seizing  the  Californias.  He 
denounced  Castro  in  violent  terms  as  an  usurper,  a 
6 


82         THE  EARS  OF  TWENTY  AMERICANS. 

boasting  and  abusive  chief,  and  accused  him  of  hav- 
ing violated  every  principle  of  national  hospitality 
and  good  faith  toward  Captain  Fremont  and  his 
surveying  party.  Stockton  sailed  for  the  South  the 
same  day  in  the  Congress,  leaving  a  number  of  offi- 
cers to  Monterey  and  the  indignation  of  the  people. 

"  By  Jove,  I  don't  dare  to  go  near  Doiia  Eustaquia," 
said  Russell  to  Brotherton.  "  And  I'm  afraid  we 
won't  have  our  picnic.  It  seems  to  me  the  Commo- 
dore need  not  have  used  such  strong  language  about 
California's  idol.  The  very  people  in  the  streets 
are  ready  to  unlimb  us;  and  as  for  the  peppery 
Dona " 

"Speak  more  respectfully  of  Dona  Eustaquia, 
young  man,"  said  the  older  officer  severely.  "  She 
is  a  very  remarkable  woman  and  not  to  be  spoken 
slightingly  of  by  young  men  who  are  in  love  with 
her  daughter."  * 

"  God  forbid  that  I  should  slight  her,  dear  Cap- 
tain. Never  have  I  so  respected  a  woman.  She 
frightens  the  life  out  of  me  every  time  she  flashes 
those  eyes  of  hers.  But  let  us  go  and  face  the 
enemy  at  once,  like  the  brave  Americans  we  are." 

"Very  well,"  and  together  they  walked  along 
Alvarado  Street  from  the  harbor,  then  up  the  hill 
to  the  house  of  Dona  Eustaquia. 

That  formidable  lady  and  her  daughter  were  sit- 
ting on  the  corridor  dressed  in  full  white  gowns, 
slowly  wielding  large  black  fans,  for  the  night  was 
hot.  Benicia  cast  up  her  eyes  expressively  as  she 
rose  and  courtesied  to  the  officers,  but  her  mother 


THE  EARS  OF  TWENTY  AMERICANS.         83 

merely  bent  her  head;  nor  did  she  extend  her  hand. 
Her  face  was  very  dark. 

Brotherton  went  directly  to  the  point. 

"  Dear  Dona  Eustaquia,  we  deeply  regret  that  our 
Commodore  has  used  such  harsh  language  in  re- 
gard to  General  Castro.  But  remember  that  he  has 
only  been  here  a  few  days,  and  has  had  no  chance  to 
learn  the  many  noble  and  valiant  qualities  of  your 
General.  He  has  doubtless  been  prejudiced  against 
him  by  some  enemy,  and  he  adores  Fremont : — there 
is  the  trouble.  He  resents  Castro's  treating  Fremont 
as  an  enemy  before  the  United  States  had  declared 
its  intentions.  But  had  he  been  correctly  informed 
he  would  undoubtedly  have  conceived  the  same 
admiration  and  respect  for  your  brave  General  that 
is  felt  by  every  other  man  among  us." 

Doila  Eustaquia  looked  somewhat  mollified,  but 
shook  her  head  sternly,  "  Much  better  he  took  the 
trouble  to  hear  true.  He  insult  all  Calif ornians  by 
those  shemful  words.  All  the  enemies  of  our  dear 
General  be  glad.  And  the  poor  wife !  Poor  my 
Modeste!  She  fold  the  arms  and  raise  the  head, 
but  the  heart  is  broken." 

"  Jove !  I  almost  wish  they  had  driven  us  out ! 
Dear  senora — "  Russell  and  Benicia  were  walking  up 
and  down  the  corridor — "  we  have  become  friends, 
true  friends,  as  sometimes  happens — not  often — be- 
tween man  and  woman.  Cease  to  think  of  me  as 
an  officer  of  the  United  States  navy,  only  as  a  man 
devoted  to  your  service.  I  have  already  spent  many 
pleasant  hours  with  you.  Let  me  hope  that  while 


84         THE  EARS  OP  TWENTY  AMERICANS. 

I  remain  here  neither  Commodore  Stockton  nor  party 
feeling  will  exclude  me  from  many  more." 

She  raised  her  graceful  hand  to  her  chin  with  a 
gesture  peculiar  to  her,  and  looked  upward  with 
a  glance  half  sad,  half  bitter. 

"I  much  appreciate  your  friendship,  Captain 
Brotherton.  You  give  me  much  advice  that  is  good 
for  me,  and  tell  me  many  things.  It  is  like  the 
ocean  wind  when  you  have  live  long  in  the  hot 
valley.  Yes,  dear  friend,  I  forget  you  are  in  the 
navy  of  the  conqueror." 

"  Mamacita,"  broke  in  Benicia's  light  voice,  "  tell 
us  now  when  we  can  have  the  peekneek  ?  " 

"  To-morrow  night." 

"Sure?" 

"  Sure,  niiiita." 

"  Castro,"  said  Russell,  lifting  his  cap,  "  peace  be 
with  thee." 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE  great  masses  of  rock  on  the  ocean's  coast 
shone  white  in  the  moonlight.  Through  the  gaunt, 
outlying  rocks,  lashed  apart  by  furious  storms, 
boiled  the  ponderous  breakers,  tossing  aloft  the 
sparkling  clouds  of  spray,  breaking  in  the  pools  like 
a  million  silver  fishes.  High  above  the  waves,  grow- 
ing out  of  the  crevices  of  the  massive  rocks  of  the 
shore  were  weird  old  cypresses,  their  bodies  bent 


THE  EARS  OF  TWENTY  AMERICANS.         85 

from  the  ocean  as  if  petrified  in  flight  before  the 
mightier  foe.  On  their  gaunt,  outstretched  arms 
and  gray  bodies,  seamed  with  time,  knobs  like 
human  muscles  jutted ;  between  the  broken  bark 
shone  the  red  blood.  From  their  angry  hands, 
clutching  at  the  air  or  doubled  in  imprecation,  long 
strands  of  gray-green  moss  hung,  waving  and  coil- 
ing, in  the  night  wind.  Only  one  old  man  was  on 
his  hands  and  knees  as  if  to  crawl  from  the  field ; 
but  a  comrade  spurned  him  with  his  foot  and  wound 
his  bony  hand  about  the  coward's  neck.  Another 
had  turned  his  head  to  the  enemy,  pointing  his 
index  finger  in  scorn,  although  he  stood  alone  on 
high. 

All  along  the  cliffs  ran  the  ghostly  army,  some- 
times with  straining  arras  fighting  the  air,  some- 
times thrust  blankly  outward,  all  with  life  quiver- 
ing in  their  arrested  bodies,  silent  and  scorn- 
ful in  their  defeat.  Who  shall  say  what  winter 
winds  first  beat  them,  what  huge  waves  first  fought 
their  deathless  trunks,  what  young  stars  first  shone 
over  them  ?  They  have  outstood  centuries  of  raging 
storm  and  rending  earthquake.  Tradition  says  that 
until  convulsion  wrenched  the  Golden  Gate  apart 
the  San  Franciscan  waters  rolled  through  the  long 
valleys  and  emptied  into  the  Bay  of  Monterey.  But 
the  old  cypresses  were  on  the  ocean  just  beyond ; 
the  incoming  and  the  outgoing  of  the  inland  ocean 
could  not  trouble  them  ;  and  perhaps  they  will  stand 
there  until  the  edge  of  time. 

Down  the  long  road  by  the  ocean  came  a  gay  caval- 


86         THE  EARS  OF  TWENTY  AMERICANS. 

cade.  The  caballeros  had  haughtily  refused  to  join 
the  party,  and  the  men  all  wore  the  blue  and  gold  of 
the  United  States.  But  the  women  wore  fluttering 
mantillas,  and  their  prancing,  high-stepping  horses, 
were  trapped  with  embossed  leather  and  silver.  In 
a  lumbering  "wagon  of  the  country,"  drawn  by 
oxen,  running  on  solid  wheels  cut  from  the  trunks 
of  trees,  but  padded  with  silk,  rode  some  of  the  older 
people  of  the  town,  disapproving,  but  overridden 
by  the  impatient  enthusiasm  of  Dona  Eustaquia. 
Through  the  pine  woods  with  their  softly  moving 
shadows  and  splendid  aisles,  out  from  between  the 
cypresses  and  rocky  beach  wound  the  stately  caval- 
cade, their  voices  rising  above  the  sociable  converse 
of  the  seals  and  the  screeching  of  the  sea-gulls  spik- 
ing the  rocks  where  the  waves  fought  and  foamed. 
The  gold  on  the  shoulders  of  the  men  flashed  in  the 
moonlight ;  the  jewels  of  the  women  sparkled  and 
winked.  Two  by  two  they  came  like  a  conquering 
army  to  the  rescue  of  the  cypresses.  Brotherton, 
who  rode  ahead  with  Dona  Eustaquia,  half  expected 
to  see  the  old  trees  rise  upright  with  a  deep  shout 
of  welcome. 

When  they  reached  a  point  where  the  sloping 
rocks  rose  high  above  surf  and  spray,  they  dis- 
mounted, leaving  the  Indian  servants  to  tether  the 
horses.  They  climbed  down  the  big,  smooth  rocks 
and  sat  about  in  groups,  although  never  beyond 
the  range  of  older  eyes,  the  cypresses  towering 
gloomily  above  them,  the  ocean  tearing  through 
the  outer  rocks  to  swirl  and  grumble  in  the  pools. 


THE  EARS  OF  TWENTY  AMERICANS          87 

The  moon  was  so  bright,  its  light  so  broad  and 
silveren,  they  could  almost  imagine  they  saw  the 
gorgeous  mass  of  color  in  the  pools  below. 

"  You  no  have  sea- weed  like  that  in  Boston,"  said 
Benicia,  who  had  a  comprehensive  way  of  symbol- 
izing the  world  by  the  city  from  which  she  got 
many  of  her  clothes  and  all  of  her  books. 

"  Indeed,  no  !  "  said  Russell.  "  The  other  day  I  sat 
for  hours  watching  those  great  bunches  and  strands 
that  look  like  richly  colored  chenille.  And  there 
were  stones  that  looked  like  big  opals  studded  with 
vivid  jewels.  God  of  my  soul,  as  you  say,  it  was 
magnificent  1  I  never  saw  such  brilliant  coloring, 
such  delicate  tints  1  And  those  great,  rugged,  de- 
fiant rocks  out  there,  lashed  by  the  waves  !  Look  at 
that  one;  misty  with  spray  one  minute,  bare  and 
black  the  next !  They  look  like  an  old  castle  which 
has  been  battered  down  with  cannon.  Captain,  do 
you  not  feel  romantic  ?  " 

"  I  feel  that  I  never  want  to  go  into  an  art  gallery 
again.  No  wonder  the  women  of  California  are 
original,"  he  said  to  Doiia  Eustaquia,  "with  scenes 
like  this  cut  on  their  nature.  The  difference  be- 
tween a  woman  who  has  been  brought  up  in  nature 
and  one  who  has  been  reared  in  art  galleries  is  like 
the  difference  between  the  hot-house  and  the  mount- 
ain rose." 

"  But  the  mountain  rose  have  many  thorns,"  said 
Dona  Eustaquia,  dryly ;  "  and  the  women  who  grow 
by  the  Pacific  and  look  often  at  the  big  rocks  that 
frown  in  the  storms  that  rush  and  shriek,  and  who 


88         THE  EARS  OF  TWENTY  AMERICANS. 

ride  under  the  grand  bare  mountains,  they  are  just 
a  little  savage,  seiior.  They  love  and  they  hate — 
very,  very  hard.  They*  are  soft  and — how  you  say 
it  ? — charming — when  all  is  quiet  in  the  heart." 

"  Oh,  there  is  plenty  of  the  savage  in  all  of  us," 
said  Brotherton. 

"  Benicia,"  said  Russell,  "  I  have  tried  in  vain  to 
learn  a  Spanish  song.  But  teach  me  a  Spanish 
phrase  of  endearment.  All  our  darlings  and  dearests 
are  too  flat  for  California." 

"  Bueno ;  I  teach  you.  Say  after  me :  Mi  muy 
querida  prima.  That  is  very  sweet.  Say." 

"  Mi  muy " 

"  Querida  prima." 

"  Que What  is  it  in  English  ?  " 

"  My — very — darling — first.  It  no  sound  so  pretty 
in  English." 

"  It  does  very  well.  My — very — darling — first — if 
all  these  people  were  not  about  us  I  should  kiss  you. 
You  look  exactly  like  a  flower." 

"  Si  you  did,  Senor  Impertinencio,  you  get  that 
for  thanks." 

Russell  jumped  to  his  feet  with  a  shout,  and  shook 
from  his  neck  a  little  crab  with  a  back  like  green 
velvet  and  legs  like  carven  garnet. 

"  Did  you  put  that  crab  on  my  neck,  senorita  ?  " 

"  Si,  senor." 

A  sulky  silence  of  ten  minutes  ensued,  during 
which  Benicia  sent  little  stones  skipping  down  into 
the  silvered  pools,  and  Russell,  again  recumbent, 
stared  at  the  horizon, 


THE  EARS  OF  TWENTY  AMERICANS.         89 

"  Si  you  no  can  talk,"  she  said  finally,  "  I  wish 
you  go  way  and  let  Don  Henry  Tallant  come  talk  to 
me.  He  look  like  he  want." 

"  No  doubt  he  does  ;  but  he  can  stay  where  he  is. 
Let  me  kiss  your  hand,  Benicia,  and  I  will  forgive 
you." 

Benicia  hit  his  mouth  lightly  with  the  back  of  her 
hand,  but  he  captured  it  and  kissed  it  several 
times. 

"  Your  mustache  feel  like  the  cat's,"  said  she. 

He  flung  the  hand  from  him,  but  laughed  in  a 
moment.  "  How  sentimental  you  are  ?  Making  love 
to  you  is  like  dragging  a  cannon  up  hill !  Will  you 
not  at  least  sing  me  a  love-song  ?  And  please  do 
not  make  faces  in  the  tender  parts." 

Benicia  tossed  her  spirited  head,  but  took  her 
guitar  from  its  case  and  called  to  the  other  girls  to 
accompany  her.  They  withdrew  from  their  various 
flirtations  with  audible  sighs,  but  it  was  Benicia's 
merienda,  and  in  a  moment  a  dozen  white  hands 
were  sweeping  the  long  notes  from  the  strings. 

Russell  moved  to  a  lower  rock,  and  lying  at  Beni- 
cia's feet  looked  upward.  The  scene  was  all  above 
him — the  great  mass  of  white  rocks,  whiter  in  the 
moonlight ;  the  bending  cypresses  aloft ;  the  beau- 
tiful faces,  dreamy,  passionate,  stolid,  restless,  look- 
ing from  the  lace  mantillas ;  the  graceful  arms 
holding  the  guitars ;  the  sweet,  rich  voices  threading 
through  the  roar  of  the  ocean  like  the  melody  in  a 
grand  recitative;  the  old  men  and  women  crouching 
like  buzzards  on  the  stones,  their  sharp  eyes  never 


90          THE  EARS  OF  TWENTY  AMERICANS. 

closing ;  enfolding  all  with  an  almost  palpable  touch, 
the  warm,  voluptuous  air.  Now  and  again  a  bird 
sang  a  few  notes,  a  strange  sound  in  the  night,  or 
the  soft  wind  murmured  like  the  ocean's  echo 
through  the  pines. 

The  song  finished.  "Benicia,  I  love  you,"  whis- 
pered Russell. 

"  We  will  now  eat,"  said  Benicia  "  Mamma,"  she 
raised  her  voice,  "  shall  I  tell  Raphael  to  bring  down 
the  supper  ?  " 

"  Yes,  nina." 

The  girl  sprang  lightly  up  the  rocks,  followed  by 
Russell.  The  Indian  servants  were  some  distance 
off,  and  as  the  young  people  ran  through  a  pine 
grove  the  bold  officer  of  the  United  States  squadron 
captured  the  Californian  and  kissed  her  on  the 
mouth.  His  ears  were  boxed,  but  his  resignation 
was  admirable. 

Benicia  gave  her  orders>  Raphael  and  the  other 
Indians  followed  her  with  the  baskets,  and  spread 
the  supper  of  tomales  and  salads,  dulces  and  wine, 
on  a  large,  table  like  rock,  just  above  the  threatening 
spray ;  the  girls  sang  each  in  turn,  whilst  the  others 
nibbled  the  dainties  Dona  Eustaquia  had  provided, 
and  the  Americans  wondered  if  it  were  not  a  vision 
that  would  disappear  into  the  fog  bearing  down 
upon  them. 

A  great  white  bank,  writhing  and  lifting,  rolling 
and  bending,  came  across  the  ocean  slowly,  with 
majestic  stealth,  hiding  the  swinging  waves  on 
which  it  rode  so  lightly,  shrouding  the  rocks,  en- 


THE  EAES  OF  TWENTY  AMERICANS.         91 

folding  the  men  and  women,  wreathing  the  cypresses, 
rushing  onward  to  the  pines. 

"  We  must  go,"  said  Dona  Eustaquia,  rising. 
"  There  is  danger  to  stay.  The  lungs,  the  throat, 
my  children.  Look  at  the  poor  old  cypresses." 

The  fog  was  puffing  through  the  gaunt  arms, 
festooning  the  rigid  hands.  It  hung  over  the  green 
heads,  it  coiled  about  the  gray  trunks.  The  stern, 
defeated  trees  looked  like  the  phantoms  of  them- 
selves, a  long,  silent  battalion  of  petrified  ghosts. 
Even  Benicia's  gay  spirit  was  oppressed,  and  during 
the  long  ride  homeward  through  the  pine  woods  she 
had  little  to  say  to  her  equally  silent  companion. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

EUSTAQUIA  seldom  gave  balls,  but  once  a 
week  she  opened  her  salas  to  the  more  intellectual 
people  of  the  town.  A  few  Americans  were  ever 
attendant ;  General  Vallejo  often  came  from  Sonoma 
to  hear  the  latest  American  and  Mexican  news  in 
her  house ;  Castro  had  rarely  been  absent ;  Alvarado, 
in  the  days  of  his  supremacy,  could  always  be  found 
there,  and  she  was  the  first  woman  upon  whom  Pio 
Pico  called  when  he  deigned  to  visit  Monterey.  A 
few  young  people  came  to  sit  in  a  corner  with 
Benicia,  but  they  had  little  to  say. 
The  night  after  the  picnic  some  fifteen  or  twenty 


92          THE  EARS  OF  TWENTY  AMERICANS. 

people  were  gathered  about  Dona  Eustaquia  in  the 
large  sala  on  the  right  of  the  hall;  a  few  others 
were  glancing  over  the  Mexican  papers  in  the  little 
sala  on  the  left.  The  room  was  ablaze  with  many 
candles  standing  above  the  heads  of  the  guests,  in 
twisted  silver  candelabra,  the  white  walls  reflecting 
their  light.  The  floor  was  bare,  the  furniture  of 
stiff  mahogany  and  horsehair,  but  no  visitor  to  that 
quaint,  ugly  room  ever  thought  of  looking  beyond 
the  brilliant  face  of  Dona  Eustaquia,  the  lovely  eyes 
of  her  daughter,  the  intelligence  and  animation  of 
the  people  she  gathered  about  her.  As  a  rule  Dona 
Modeste  Castro's  queenly  head  and  strange  beauty 
had  been  one  of  the  living  pictures  of  that  historical 
sala,  but  she  was  not  there  to-night. 

As  Captain  Brotherton  and  Lieutenant  Russell 
entered,  Dona  Eustaquia  was  waging  war  against 
Mr.  Larkin. 

"  And  what  hast  thou  to  say  to  that  proclamation 
of  thy  little  American  hero,  thy  commodore  " —  she 
gave  the  word  a  satirical  roll,  impossible  to  tran- 
scribe— "  who  is  heir  to  a  conquest  without  blood, 
who  struts  into  history  as  the  Commander  of  the 
United  States  Squadron  of  the  Pacific,  holding  a  few 
hundred  helpless  Calif ornians  in  subjection?  O, 
warlike  name  of  Sloat!  O,  heroic  name  of  Stock- 
ton! O,  immortal  Fremont,  prince  of  strategists 
and  tacticians,  your  country  must  be  proud  of  you ! 
Your  newspapers  will  glorify  you  !  Sometime,  per- 
haps, you  will  have  a  little  history  bound  in  red 
morocco  all  to  yourselves;  whilst  Castro — "  she 


THE  EARS  OF  TWENTY  AMERICANS.          93 

sprang  to  her  feet  and  brought  her  open  palm  down 
violently  upon  the  table,  "  Castro,  the  real  hero  of 
this  country,  the  great  man  ready  to  die  a  thousand 
deaths  for  the  liberty  of  the  Californians,  a  man  who 
was  made  for  great  deeds  and  born  for  fame,  he  will 
be  left  to  rust  and  rot  because  we  have  no  news- 
papers to  glorify  him,  and  the  Gringos  send  what 
they  wish  to  their  country  !  O  profanation !  That  a 
great  man  should  be  covered  from  sight  by  an  army 
of  red  ants  !  " 

"  By  Jove ! "  said  Russell,  "  I  wish  I  could  under- 
stand her !  Doesn't  she  look  magnificent?  " 

Captain  Brotherton  made  no  reply.  He  was 
watching  her  closely,  gathering  the  sense  of  her 
words,  full  of  passionate  admiration  for  the  woman. 
Her  tall,  majestic  figure  was  quivering  under 
the  lash  of  her  fiery  temper,  quick  to  spring 
and  strike.  The  red  satin  of  her  gown  and  the 
diamonds  on  her  finely  molded  neck  and  in  the 
dense  coils  of  her  hair  grew  dim  before  the  angry 
brilliancy  of  her  eyes. 

The  thin,  sensitive  lips  of  Mr.  Larkin  curled  with 
their  accustomed  humor,  but  he  replied  sincerely : 
"Yes,  Castro  is  a  hero,  a  great  man  on  a  small 
canvas " 

"  And  they  are  little  men  on  a  big  canvas !  "  inter- 
rupted Dona  Eustaquia. 

Mr.  Larkin  laughed,  but  his  reply  was  non-com- 
mittal. "  Remember,  they  have  done  all  that  they 
have  been  called  upon  to  do,  and  they  have  done  it 
well.  Who  can  say  that  they  would  not  be  as 


94          THE  EARS  OF  TWENTY  AMERICANS. 

heroic,  if  opportunity  offered,  as  they  have  been 
prudent?" 

Dona  Eustaquia  shrugged  her  shoulders  disdain- 
fully, but  resumed  her  seat.  "  You  will  not  say,  but 
you  know  what  chance  they  would  have  with  Castro 
in  a  fair  fight.  But  what  chance  has  even  a  great 
man,  when  at  the  head  of  a  few  renegades,  against 
the  navy  of  a  big  nation  ?  But  Fremont !  Is  he  to 
cast  up  his  eyes  and  draw  down  his  mouth  to  the 
world,  whilst  the  man  who  acted  for  the  safety  of 
his  country  alone,  who  showed  foresight  and  wisdom, 
is  denounced  as  a  violater  of  international  courtesy  ?  " 

"No,"  said  one  of  the  American  residents  who 
stood  near,  "  history  will  right  all  that.  Some  day 
the  world  will  know  who  was  the  great  and  who  the 
little  man." 

"  Some  day !  When  we  are  under  our  stones ! 
This  swaggering  Commodore  Stockton  adores  Fre- 
mont and  hates  Castro.  His  lying  proclamation 
will  be  read  in  his  own  country " 

The  door  opened  suddenly  and  Don  Fernando 
Altimira  entered  the  room.  "  Have  you  heard  ? " 
he  cried.  "  All  the  South  is  in  arms !  The  Depart- 
mental Assembly  has  called  the  whole  country  to 
war,  and  men  are  flocking  to  the  standard  !  Castro 
has  sworn  that  he  will  never  give  up  the  country 
under  his  charge.  Now,  Mother  of  God,  let  our  men 
drive  the  usurper  from  the  country." 

Even  Mr.  Larkin  sprang  to  his  feet  in  excitement. 
He  rapidly  translated  the  news  to  Brotherton 
and  Russell. 


THE  EAftS  OF  TWENTY  AMERICANS.         95 

"  Ah !  There  will  be  a  little  blood,  then,"  said  the 
younger  officer.  "It  was  too  easy  a  victory  to 
count." 

Every  one  in  the  room  was  talking  at  once.  Dona 
Eustaquia  smote  her  hands  together,  then  clasped 
and  raised  them  aloft. 

«  Thanks  to  God !  "  she  cried.  "  California  has 
come  to  her  senses  at  last !  " 

Altimira  bent  his  lips  to  her  ear.  "  I  go  to  fight 
the  Americans,"  he  whispered. 

She  caught  his  hand  between  both  her  own  and 
pressed  it  convulsively  to  her  breast.  "Go,"  she 
said,  "  and  may  God  and  Mary  protect  thee.  Go, 
my  son,  and  when  thou  returnest  I  will  give  thee 
Benicia.  Thou  art  a  son  after  my  own  heart,  a 
brave  man  and  a  good  Catholic." 

Benicia,  standing  near,  heard  the  words.  For  the 
first  time  Russell  saw  the  expression  of  careless 
audacity  leave  her  face,  and  her  pink  color  faded. 

"  What  is  that  man  saying  to  your  mother  ? "  he 
demanded. 

"  She  promise  me  to  him  when  he  come  back ;  he 
go  to  join  General  Castro." 

"  Benicia ! "  He  glanced  about.  Altimira  had  left 
the  house.  Every  one  was  too  excited  to  notice  them. 
He  drew  her  across  the  hall  and  into  the  little  sala, 
deserted  since  the  startling  news  had  come.  "  Beni- 
cia," he  said  hurriedly,  "  there  is  no  time  to  be  lost. 
You  are  such  a  butterfly  I  hardly  know  whether  you 
love  me  or  not." 

"I  no  am  such  butterfly  as  you  think,"  said  the 


96         THE  EARS  OF  TWENTY  AMERICANS. 

girl  pathetically.  "  I  often  am  very  gay,  for  that  is 
my  spirit,  seiior ;  but  I  cry  sometimes  in  the  night." 

"  Well,  you  are  not  to  cry  any  more,  my  very  dar- 
ling first ! "  He  took  her  in  his  arms  and  kissed 
her,  and  she  did  not  box  his  ears.  "  I  may  be  ordered 
off  at  any  moment,  and  what  may  they  not  do  with 
you  while  I  am  gone  ?  So  I  have  a  plan !  Marry 
me  to-morrow ! " 

«Ay!  Senor!" 

"To-morrow.  At  your  friend,  Blandina's  house. 
The  Hernandez  like  the  Americans ;  in  fact,  as  we 
all  know,  Tallant  is  in  love  with  Blandina  and  the 
old  people  do  not  frown.  They  will  let  us  marry 
there." 

"  Ay !  Cielo  santo !  What  my  mother  say  ?  She 
kill  me!" 

"  She  will  forgive  you,  no  matter  how  -angry  she 
may  be  at  first.  She  loves  you — almost  as  much  as 
I  do." 

The  girl  withdrew  from  his  arms  and  walked  up 
and  down  the  room.  Her  face  was  very  pale  and 
she  looked  older.  On  one  side  of  the  room  hung  a 
large  black  cross,  heavily  mounted  with  gold.  She 
leaned  her  face  against  it  and  burst  into  tears.  "  Ay, 
my  home !  My  mother ! "  she  cried  under  her  breath. 
"  How  I  can  leave  you  ?  Ay,  triste  de  mi  !  "  She 
turned  suddenly  to  Russell,  whose  face  was  as  white 
as  her  own,  and  put  to  him  the  question  which 
Shakespeare  himself  has  not  answered.  "  What  is 
this  love  ?  "  she  said  rapidly.  "  I  no  can  understand. 
I  never  feel  before.  Always  I  laugh  when  men  say 


THE  EARS  OF  TWENTY  AMERICANS.         97 

they  love  me ;  but  I  never  laugh  again.  In  my  heart 
is  something  that  shake  me  like  a  lion  shake  what  it 
go  to  kill,  and  make  me  no  care  for  my  mother  or 

my  God and  you  are  a  Protestant !    I  have  love 

my  mother  like  I  have  love  that  cross  ;  and  now  a 
man  come — a  stranger !  a  conqueror !  a  Protes- 
tant !  an  American !  And  he  twist  my  heart  out 
with  his  hands !  But  I  no  can  help.  I  love  you  and 
I  go." 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE  next  morning,  Dona  Eustaquia  looked  up 
from  her  desk  as  Benicia  entered  the  room.  "  I  am 
writing  to  Alvarado,"  she  said.  "  I  hope  to  be  the 
first  to  tell  him  the  glorious  news.  Ay  !  my  child, 
go  to  thy  altar  and  pray  that  the  bandoleros  may  be 
driven  wriggling  from  the  land  like  snakes  out  of 
a  burning  field ! " 

"  But,  mother,  I  thought  you  had  learned  to  like 
the  Gringos." 

"  I  like  them  well  enough,  but  I  hate  their  flag ! 
Ay  !  I  will  pull  it  down  with  my  own  hands  if  Cas- 
tro and  Pico  roll  Stockton  and  Fremont  in  the  dust !  " 

"  I  am  sorry  for  that,  my  mother,  for  I  am  going 
to  marry  an  American  to-day." 

Her  mother  laughed  and  glanced  over  the  closely 
written  page. 


98         TUE  EARS  OF  TWENTY  AMERICANS. 

11 1  am  going  to  marry  the  Lieutenant  Russell  at 
Blandina's  house  this  morning." 

"  Ay,  run,  run.    I  must  finish  my  letter." 

Benicia  left  the  sala  and  crossing  her  mother's 
room  entered  her  own.  From  the  stout  mahogany 
chest  she  took  white  silk  stockings  and  satin  slippers, 
and  sitting  down  on  the  floor  put  them  on.  Then 
she  opened  the  doors  of  her  wardrobe  and  looked 
for  some  moments  at  the  many  pretty  frocks  hang- 
ing there.  She  selected  one  of  fine  white  lawn,  half 
covered  with  deshalados,  and  arrayed  herself.  She 
took  from  the  drawer  of  the  wardrobe  a  mantilla  of 
white  Spanish  lace,  and  draped  it  about  her  head 
and  shoulders,  fastening  it  back  above  one  ear  with 
a  pink  rose.  Around  her  throat  she  clasped  a  string 
of  pearls,  then  stood  quietly  in  the  middle  of  the 
room  and  looked  about  her.  Familiar  as  it  was  she 
felt  a  desire  to  photograph  it  on  her  brain.  In  one 
corner  was  a  little  brass  bedstead  covered  with  a 
heavy  quilt  of  satin  and  lace.  The  pillow  cases  were 
almost  as  fine  and  elaborate  as  was  her  gown.  In 
the  opposite  corner  was  an  altar  with  little  gold 
candlesticks  and  an  ivory  crucifix.  The  walls  and 
floor  were  bare  but  spotless ;  the  ugly  wardrobe  built 
into  the  thick  wall  had  never  been  empty :  Dona 
Eustaquia's  generosity  to  the  daughter  she  wor- 
shiped was  unbounded. 

Benicia  drew  a  long,  hysterical  breath  and  went 
over  to  the  window.  It  looked  upon  a  large  yard 
enclosed  by  the  high  adobe  wall  upon  which  her 
lovers  had  so  often  sat  and  sung  to  her.  No  flowers 


TIIE  EARS  OF  TWENTY  AMERICANS.         99 

were  in  the  garden,  not  even  a  tree,  but  it  was  as 
smooth  and  clean  as  the  floor  of  a  ball-room.  About 
the  well  in  the  middle  were  three  or  four  Indian  serv- 
ants quarreling  good-naturedly.  The  house  stood 
on  the  rise  of  one  of  the  crescent's  horns.  Benicia 
looked  up  at  the  dark  pine  woods  on  the  hill.  What 
days  she  had  spent  there  with  her  mother!  She 
whirled  about  suddenly  and  taking  a  large  fan  from 
the  table  returned  to  the  sala. 

Dona  Eustaquia  laughed.  "Thou  silly  child,  to 
dress  thyself  like  a  bride.  What  nonsense  is  this  ?  " 

"  I  will  be  a  bride  in  an  hour,  my  mother." 

"  Go !  Go,  with  thy  nonsense !  I  have  spoiled 
thee  !  What  other  girl  in  Monterey  would  dare  to 
dress  herself  like  this  at  eleven  in  the  morning? 
Go !  And  do  not  ruin  that  mantilla,  for  thou  wilt 
not  get  another.  Thou  art  going  to  Blaiidina's,  no  ? 
Be  sure  thou  goest  no  farther  ?  I  would  not  let  thee 
go  there  alone  were  it  not  so  near.  And  be  sure  thou 
speakest  to  no  man  in  the  street." 

"No,  mamacita,  I  will  speak  to  no  man  in  the 
street,  but  one  awaits  me  in  the  house.  JTasta  lueyo" 
And  she  flitted  out  of  the  door  and  up  the  street. 


100        THE  EARS  OF  TWENTY  AMERICANS. 


CHAPTER  XL 

A  FEW  hours  later  Dona  Eustaquia  sat  in  the  large 
and  cooler  sala  with  Captain  Brotherton.  He  read 
Shakespeare  to  her  whilst  she  fanned  herself,  her 
face  aglow  with  intelligent  pleasure.  She  had  not 
broached  to  him  the  uprising  in  the  South  lest  it 
should  lead  to  bitter  words.  Although  an  American 
and  a  Protestant,  few  friends  had  ever  stood  so  close 
to  her. 

He  laid  down  the  book  as  Russell  and  Benicia  en- 
tered the  room.  Dona  Eustaquia's  heavy  brows 
met. 

"  Thou  knowest  that  I  do  not  allow  thee  to  walk 
with  men  on  the  street,"  she  said  in  Spanish. 

"But,  mamacita,  he  is  my  husband.  We  were 
married  this  morning  at  Blandina's."  Excitement 
had  tuned  Benicia's  spirit  to  its  accustomed  pitch, 
and  her  eyes  danced  with  mischief.  Moreover, 
although  she  expected  violent  reproaches,  she  knew 
the  tenacious  strength  of  her  mother's  affection,  and 
had  faith  in  speedy  forgiveness. 

Brotherton  opened  his  eyes,  but  Dona  Eustaquia 
moved  back  her  head  impatiently.  "  That  silly 
joke ! "  Then  she  smiled  at  her  own  impatience. 
What  was  Benicia  but  a  spoiled  child,  and  spoiled 


THE  EARS  OF  TWENTY  AMERICANS.        101 

children  would  disobey  at  times.  "Welcome,  my 
son,"  she  said  to  Russell,  extending  her  hand.  "  We 
celebrate  your  marriage  at  the  supper  to-night,  and 
the  captain  helps  us — no  ?  my  friend." 

"  Let  us  have  chicken  with  red  pepper  and  tomato 
sauce,"  cried  Russell.  "  And  rice  with  saffron  ; 
and  that  delightful  dish  with  which  I  remonstrate 
all  night — olives  and  cheese  and  hard-boiled 
eggs  and  red  peppers  all  rolled  up  in  corn-meal 
cakes." 

"  Enchiladas  ?  You  have  them !  Now,  both  you 
go  over  to  the  corner  and  talk  not  loud,  for  I  wish 
to  hear  my  friend  read." 

Russell,  lifting  his  shoulders,  did  as  he  was  bid- 
den. Benicia,  with  a  gay  laugh,  kissed  her  mother 
and  flitted  like  a  butterfly  about  the  room,  singing 
gay  little  snatches  of  song. 

"  Oh,  mamacita,  mamacita,"  she  chanted.  "  Thou 
wilt  not  believe  thou  hast  lost  thy  little  daughter. 
Thou  wilt  not  believe  thou  hast  a  son.  Thou  wilt 
not  believe  I  shall  sleep  no  more  in  the  little  brass 
bed " 

"  Benicia,  hold  thy  saucy  tongue  !  Sit  down !  " 
And  this  Benicia  finally  consented  to  do,  although 
smothered  laughter  came  now  and  again  from  the 
corner. 

Doiia  Eustaquia  sat  easily  against  the  straight 
back  of  her  chair,  looking  very  handsome  and  placid 
as  Brotherton  read  and  expounded  "  As  You  Like 
It "  to  her.  Her  gown  of  thin  black  silk  threw  out 
the  fine,  gray  tones  of  her  skin ;  about  her  neck  and 


102       THE  EARS  OF  TWENTY  AMERICAN  J. 

chest  was  a  heavy  chain  of  California!!  gold;  her 
dense,  lusterless  hair  was  held  high  with  a  shell  comb 
banded  with  gokl ;  superb  jewels  weighted  her  little 
white  hands ;  in  her  small  ears  were  large  hoops  of 
gold  studded  with  black  pearls.  She  was  perfectly 
contented  in  that  hour.  Her  woman's  vanity  was 
at  peace  and  her  eager  mind  expanding. 

The  party  about  the  supper  table  in  the  evening 
was  very  gay.  The  long  room  was  bare,  but  heavy 
silver  was  beyond  the  glass  doors  of  the  cupboard ; 
a  servant  stood  behind  each  chair ;  the  wines  were 
as  fine  as  any  in  America,  and  the  favorite  dishes  of 
the  Americans  had  been  prepared.  Even  Brother- 
ton,  although  more  nervous  than  was  usual  with 
him,  caught  the  contagion  of  the  hour  and  touched 
his  glass  more  than  once  to  that  of  the  woman 
whose  overwhelming  personality  had  more  than  half 
captured  a  most  indifferent  heart. 

After  supper  they  sat  on  the  corridor,  and  Beni- 
cia  sang  her  mocking  love-songs  and  danced  El  Son 
to  the  tinkling  of  her  own  guitar. 

"Is  she  not  a  light-hearted  child?"  asked  her 
mother.  "But  she  has  her  serious  moments,  my 
friend.  We  have  been  like  the  sisters.  Every  path 
of  the  pine  woods  we  walk  together,  arm  in  arm. 
We  ride  miles  on  the  beach  and  sit  down  on  the 
rocks  for  hours  and  try  to  think  what  the  seals  say 
one  to  the  other.  Before  you  come  I  have  friends, 
but  no  other  companion ;  but  it  is  good  for  me  you 
come,  for  she  think  only  of  flirting  since  the  Ameri- 
cans take  Monterey.  Mira !  Look  at  her  flash  the 


THE  EARS  OF  TWENTY  AMERICANS.        103 

eyes  at  Sefior  Russell.  It  is  well  he  has  the  light 
heart  like  herself. 

Brotherton  made  no  reply. 

"  Give  to  me  the  guitar,"  she  continued. 

Benicia  handed  her  the  instrument,  and  Dona 
Eustaquia  swept  the  cords  absently  for  a  moment, 
then  sang  the  song  of  the  troubadour.  Her  rich 
voice  was  like  the  rush  of  the  wind  through  the 
pines  after  the  light  trilling  of  a  bird,  and  even 
Russell  sat  enraptured.  As  she  sang  the  color  came 
into  her  face,  alight  with  the  fire  of  youth.  Her 
low  notes  were  voluptuous,  her  high  notes  rang  with 
piercing  sadness.  As  she  finished,  a  storm  of  ap- 
plause came  from  Alvarado  Street,  which  pulsed 
with  life  but  a  few  yards  below  them. 

"  No  American  woman  ever  sang  like  that,"  said 
Brotherton.  He  rose  and  walked  to  the  end  of  the 
corridor.  "  But  it  is  a  part  of  Monterey." 

"  Most  enchanting  of  mothers-in-law,"  said  RusselL 
"  you  have  made  it  doubly  hard  for  us  to  leave  you ; 
but  it  grows  late  and  my  wife  and  I  must  go.  Good- 
night," and  he  raised  her  hand  to  his  lips. 

"  Good-night,  my  son." 

"  Mamacita,  good-night,"  and  Benicia,  who  had 
fluttered  into  the  house  and  found  a  rebosa,  kissed 
her  mother,  waved  her  hand  to  Brotherton,  and 
stepped  from  the  corridor  to  the  street. 

"  Come  here,  seiiorita  !  "  cried  her  mother.  "  No 
walk  to-night,  for  I  have  not  the  wish  to  walk  my- 
self." 

"  But  I  go  with  my  husban'd,  mamma. 2 


104       THE  EARS  OF  TWENTY  AMERICANS. 

"  Oh,  no  more  of  that  joke  without  sense  !  Seiior 
Russell,  go  home,  that  she  have  reason  for  one 
moment." 

"  But,  dear  Dona  Eustaquia,  won't  you  understand 
that  we  are  really  married  ?  " 

Dona  Eustaquia's  patience  was  at  end.  She 
turned  to  Brotherton  and  addressed  a  remark  to 
him.  Russell  and  Benicia  conferred  a  moment,  then 
the  young  man  walked  rapidly  down  the  street. 

"  Has  he  gone  ?  "  asked  Dona  Eustaquia.  "  Then 
let  us  go  in  the  house,  for  the  fog  comes  from  the 
bay." 

They  went  into  the  little  sala  and  sat  about  the 
table.  Dona  Eustaquia  picked  up  a  silver  dagger 
she  used  as  a  paper  cutter  and  tapped  a  book  with  it. 

"  Ay,  this  will  not  last  long,"  she  said  to  Brother- 
ton.  "  I  much  am  afraid  your  commodore  send  you 
to  the  South  to  fight  with  our  men." 

"  I  shall  return,"  said  Brotherton  absently.  His 
eyes  were  fixed  on  the  door. 

"  But  it  will  not  be  long  that  you  will  be  there,  my 
friend.  Many  people  are  not  killed  in  our  wars. 
Once  there  was  a  great  battle  at  Point  Rincon,  near 
Santa  Barbara,  between  Castro  and  Carillo.  Carillo 
have  been  appointed  governor  by  Mejico,  and 
Alvarado  refuse  to  resign.  They  fight  for  three 
days,  arid  Castro  manage  so  well  he  only  lose  one 
man,  and  the  others  run  away  and  not  lose  any." 

Brotherton  laughed.  "  I  hope  all  our  battles  may 
be  as  bloodless,"  he  said,  and  then  drew  a  short 
breath.  • 


THE  EARS  OF  TWENTY  AMERICANS.        105 

Russell,  accompanied  by  Don  Jorje  and  Dona 
Franc esca  Hernandez  and  the  priest  of  Monterey 
entered  the  room. 

Dona  Eustaquia  rose  and  greeted  her  guests  with 
grace  and  hospitality. 

"But  I  am  glad  to  see  you,  my  father,  my  friends. 
And  you  are  always  welcome,  Seiior  Russell;  but 
no  more  joke.  Where  is  our  Blandina  ?  Sit 
down Why,  what  is  it?  " 

The  priest  spoke. 

"  I  have  that  to  tell  you,  Dona  Eustaquia,  which  I 
fear  will  give  you  great  displeasure.  I  hoped  not 
to  be  the  one  to  tell  it.  I  was  weak  to  consent,  but 
these  young  people  importuned  me  until  I  was 
weary.  Dona  Eustaquia,  I  married  Benicia  to  the 
Seiior  Russell  to-day." 

Doiia  Eustaquia's  head  had  moved  forward  me- 
chanically, her  eyes  staring  incredulously  from  the 
priest  to  the  other  members  of  the  apprehensive 
group.  Suddenly  her  apathy  left  her,  her  arm 
curved  upward  like  the  neck  of  a  snake ;  but  as  she 
sprang  upon  Benicia  her  ferocity  was  that  of  a  tiger. 

"  What !  "  she  shrieked,  shaking  the  girl  violently 
by  the  shoulder.  "What!  ingrate!  traitor!  Thou 
hast  married  an  American !  A  Protestant !  " 

Benicia  burst  into  terrified  sobs ;  Russell  swung 
her  from  her  mother's  grasp  arid  placed  his  arm 
around  her. 

"  She  is  mine  now,"  he  #aid.  "  You  must  not 
touch  her  again." 

"  Yours !     Yours  I  "   screamed     Dona    Eustaquia 


106        THE  EARS  OF  TWENTY  AMERICANS. 

beside  herself.  "  Oh,  Mother  of  God !  "  She  snatched 
the  dagger  from  the  table  and,  springing  backward, 
plunged  it  into  the  cross. 

"  By  that  sign  I  curse  thee,"  she  cried.  "  Ac- 
cursed be  the  man  who  has  stolen  my  child  !  Ac- 
cursed be  the  woman  who  has  betrayed  her  mother 
and  her  country !  God !  God ! — I  implore  thee,  let 
her  die  in  her  happiest  hour." 


CHAPTER   XII. 

ON  August  twelfth  Commodore  Hull  arrived  on 
the  frigate  Warren,  from  Mazatlan,  and  brought 
the  first  positive  intelligence  of  the  declaration  of 
war  between  Mexico  and  the  United  States.  Before 
the  middle  of  the  month  news  came  that  Castro  and 
Pico,  after  gallant  defense,  but  overwhelmed  by 
numbers,  had  fled,  the  one  to  Sonora,  the  other  to 
Baja  California.  A  few  days  after,  Stockton  issued 
a  proclamation  to  the  effect  that  the  flag  of  the 
United  States  was  flying  over  every  town  in  the 
territory  of  California;  and  Alcalde  Colton  an- 
nounced that  the  rancheros  were  more  than  satisfied 
with  the  change  of  government. 

A  month  later  a  mounted  courier  dashed  into 
Monterey  with  a  note  from  the  Alcalde  of  Los 
Angeles,  wrapped  about  a  cigarito  and  hidden  in 
his  hair.  The  note  contained  the  information  that 


THE  EARS  OF  TWENTY  AMERICANS.       107 

all  the  South  was  in  arms  again,  and  that  Los 
Angeles  was  in  the  hands  of  the  Californians.  Rus- 
sell was  ordered  to  go  with  Captain  Mervine,  on  the 
Savannah,  to  join  Gillespie  at  San  Pedro;  Brother- 
ton  was  left  at  Monterey  with  Lieutenant  Maddox 
and  a  number  of  men  to  quell  a  threatened  uprising. 
Later  came  the  news  of  Mervine's  defeat,  and  the 
flight  of  Talbot  from  Santa  Barbara ;  and  by  No- 
vember California  was  in  a  state  of  general  warfare, 
each  army  receiving  new  recruits  every  day. 

Dona  Eustaquia,  hard  and  stern,  praying  for  the 
triumph  of  her  people,  lived  alone  in  the  old  house. 
Benicia,  praying  for  the  return  of  her  husband  and 
the  relenting  of  her  mother,  lived  alone  in  her  little 
house  on  the  hill.  Friends  had  interceded,  but 
Doiia  Eustaquia  had  closed  her  ears.  Brotherton 
went  to  her  one  day  with  the  news  that  Lieutenant 
Russell  was  wounded. 

"  I  must  tell  Benicia, "  he  said,  "  but  it  is  you  who 
should  do  that." 

"  She  betray  me,  my  friend." 

"  Oh,  Eustaquia,  make  allowance  for  the  lightness 
of  youth.  She  barely  realized  what  she  did.  But 
she  loves  him  now,  and  suffers  bitterly.  She  should 
be  with  you." 

"  Ay !  She  suffer  for  another !  She  love  a 
strange  man — an  American — better  than  her 
mother  !  And  it  is  I  who  would  die  for  her  !  Ay, 
you  cold  Americans!  Never  you  know  how  a 
mother  can  love  her  child." 

"  The  Americans  know  how  to  love,  seuora.   And 


108        THE  EARS  OF  TWENTY  AMERICANS. 

Benicia  was  thoroughly  spoiled  by  her  devoted 
mother.  She  was  carried  away  by  her  wild  spirits, 
nothing  more." 

"  Then  much  better  she  live  on  them  now. " 

Dona  Eustaquia  sat  with  her  profile  against  the 
light.  It  looked  severe  and  a  little  older,  but  she 
was  very  handsome  in  her  rich  black  gown  and  the 
gold  chain  about  her  strong  throat.  Her  head,  as 
usual,  was  held  a  little  back.  Brotherton  sat  down 
beside  her  and  took  her  hand. 

"Eustaquia,"  he  said,  "no  friendship  between 
man  and  woman  was  ever  deeper  and  stronger  than 
ours.  In  spite  of  the  anxiety  and  excitement  of 
these  last  months  we  have  found  time  to  know  each 
other  very  intimately.  So  you  will  forgive  me  if  I 
tell  you  that  the  more  a  friend  loves  you  the  more 
he  must  be  saddened  by  the  terrible  iron  in  your 
nature.  Only  the  great  strength  of  your  passions 
has  saved  you  from  hardening  into  an  ugly  and 
repellent  woman.  You  are  a  mother  ;  forgive  your 
child;  remember  that  she  too  is  about  to  be  a 
mother " 

She  caught  his  hand  between  both  of  hers  with  a 
passionate  gesture.  "  Oh,  my  friend,"  she  said, 
"  do  not  too  much  reproach  me !  You  never  have  a 
child,  you  cannot  know!  And  remember  we  all 
are  not  make  alike.  If  you  are  me,  you  act  like 
myself.  If  I  am  you,  I  can  forgive  more  easy.  But 
I  am  Eustaquia  Ortega,  and  as  I  am  make,  so  I  do 
feel  now.  No  judge  too  hard,  my  friend,  and — 
infelez  de  mi !  do  not  forsake  me." 


THE  EARS  OF  TWENTY  AMERICANS.        109 

"  I  will  never  forsake  you,  Eustaquia."  He  rose 
suddenly.  "  I,  too,  am  a  lonely  man,  if  not  a  hard 
one,  and  I  recognize  that  cry  of  the  soul's  isolation. 
We  are  insensible  to  it  when  young ;  .but  when  it 
becomes  voiced  in  our  consciousness,  then  do  we 
know  wherein  the  human  race  is  most  accursed. 
Ideals — hope — cannot  outlive  that  awakening.  But 
there  is  always  one  thing  left,  Eustaquia :  friend- 
ship, which  mentally  appreciates  and  sympathizes, 
even  if  that  personality  called  soul  never  can  break 
through  mortal  barrier  and  touch  another,  no  mat- 
ter how  dear." 

He  left  her  and  went  up  the  hill  to  Benicia's  little 
house,  half  hidden  by  the  cypress  trees  that  grew 
before  it. 

She  was  sitting  in  her  sala  working  an  elaborate 
deshlados  on  a  baby's  gown.  Her  face  was  pale,  and 
the  sparkle  had  gone  out  of  it ;  but  she  held  herself 
with  all  her  mother's  pride,  and  her  soft  eyes  were 
deeper.  She  rose  as  Captain  Brotherton  entered, 
and  took  his  hand  in  both  of  hers.  "  You  are  so  good 
to  come  to  me,  and  I  love  you  for  your  friendship 
for  my  mother.  Tell  me  how  she  is  ?  " 

"  She  is  well,  Benicia."  Then  he  exclaimed,  sud- 
denly :  "  Poor  little  girl !  What  a  child  you  are — 
not  yet  seventeen." 

"In  a  few  months,  senor.  Sit  down.  No? 
And  I  no  am  so  young  now.  When  we  suffer  we 
grow  more  than  by  the  years  ;  and  now  I  go  to  have 
the  baby  that  make  me  feel  very  old." 

"  But  it  is  very  sad  to  see  you  alone  like  this, 


110        THE  EARS  OF  TWENTY  AMERICANS. 

without  your  husband  or  your  mother.  She  will 
relent  some  day,  Benicia,  but  I  wish  she  would  do  it 
now,  when  you  most  need  her." 

"  Yes,  I  wish  I  am  with  her  in  the  old  house," 
said  the  girl  pathetically,  although  she  winked  back 
the  tears.  "Never  I  can  be  happy  without  her, 
even  si  he  is  here,  and  you  know  how  I  love  him. 
But  I  have  love  her  so  long ;  she  is — how  you  say 
it  ? — like  she  is  part  of  me,  and  when  she  no  spik  to 
me,  how  I  can  be  happy  with  all  myself  when  part 
is  gone  ?  You  understand,  senor  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Benicia,  I  understand."  He  looked  through 
the  bending  cypresses,  down  the  hill,  upon  the 
fair  town.  He  had  no  relish  for  the  task  which  had 
brought  him  to  her.  She  looked  up  and  caught  the 
expression  of  his  face. 

"  Senor ! "  she  cried  sharply,  "  what  you  go  to 
tell  me?" 

"  There  is  a  report  that  Ned  is  slightly  wounded ; 
but  it  is  not  serious.  It  was  Altimira  who  did  it,  I 
believe." 

She  shook  from  head  to  foot,  but  was  calmer  than 
he  had  expected.  She  laid  the  gown  on  a  chair  and 
stood  up.  "  Take  me  to  him.  Si  he  is  wound  I 
go  to  nurse  him." 

"  My  child  1  You  would  die  before  you  got  there. 
I  have  sent  a  special  courier  to  find  out  the  truth. 
If  Ned  is  wounded  I  have  arranged  to  have  him 
sent  home  immediately." 

"  I  wait  for  the  courier  come  back,  for  it  no  is 
right  I  hurt  the  baby  si  I  can  help.  But  si  he  is 


THE  EAES  OF  TWENTY  AMERICANS.       Ill 

wound  so  bad  he  no  can  come  then  I  go  to  him.  It 
no  is  use  for  you  to  talk  at  all,  senor,  I  go." 

Brotherton  looked  at  her  in  wonderment.  Whence 
had  the  butterfly  gone  ?  Its  wings  had  been  struck 
from  it  and  a  soul  had  flown  in. 

"  Let  me  send  Blandina  to  you,"  he  said.  "  You 
must  not  be  alone." 

"  I  am  alone  till  he  or  my  mother  come.  I  no 
want  other.  I  love  Blandina  before,  but  now  she 
make  me  feel  tired.  She  talk  so  much  and  no  say 
anything.  I  like  better  be  alone." 

"Poor  child!"  said  Brotherton  bitterly,  "truly 
do  love  and  suffering  age  and  isolate."  He  Aotioned 
with  his  hand  to  the  altar  in  her  bedroom,  seen 
through  the  open  door.  "  I  have  not  your  faith,  I 
am  afraid  I  have  not  much  of  any  ;  but  if  I  cannot 
pray  for  you,  I  can  wish  with  all  the  strength  of  a 
man's  heart  that  happiness  will  come  to  you  yet, 
Benicia." 

She  shook  her  head.  "  I  no  know ;  I  no  believe 
much  happiness  come  in  this  life.  Before,  I  am  like 
a  fairy ;  but  it  is  only  because  I  no  am  unhappy. 
But  when  the  heart  have  wake  up,  senor,  and  the 
knife  have  gone  in  hard,  then,  after  that,  always,  I 
think,  we  are  a  little  sad." 


112      THE  EARS  OF  TWENTY  AMERICANS. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

GENERAL  KEARNEY  and  Lieutenant  Beale  walked 
rapidly  up  and  down  before  the  tents  of  the  wretched 
remnant  of  United  States  troops  with  which  the 
former  had  arrived  overland  in  California.  It  was 
bitterly  cold  in  spite  of  the  fine  drizzling  rain. 
Lonely  buttes  studded  the  desert  whose  palms 
and  cacti  seemed  to  spring  from  the  rocks  of  the 
surface;  high  on  one  of  them  was  the  American 
camp.  On  the  other  side  of  a  river  flowing  at  the 
foot  of  the  butte,  the  white  tents  of  the  Californians 
were  scattered  among  the  dark  huts  of  the  little 
pueblo  of  San  Pasqual. 

"Let  me  implore  you,  general,"  said  Beale,  "  not  to 
think  of  meeting  Andres  Pico.  Why,  your  men  are 
half  starved ;  your  few  horses  are  broken-winded ; 
your  mules  are  no  match  for  the  fresh,  trained 
mustangs  of  the  enemy.  I  am  afraid  you  do  not 
appreciate  the  Californians.  They  are  numerous, 
brave  and  desperate.  If  you  avoid  them  now,  as 
Commodore  Stockton  wishes,  and  join  him  at  San 
Diego,  we  stand  a  fair  chance  of  defeating  them. 
But  now  Pico's  cavalry  and  foot  are  fresh  and  en- 
thusiastic— in  painful  contrast  to  yours.  And,  more- 
over, they  know  every  inch  of  the  ground." 


THE  EARS  OF  TWENTY  AMERICANS.      113 

Kearney  impatiently  knocked  the  ashes  out  of 
his  pipe.  He  had  little  regard  for  Stockton,  and  no 
intention  of  being  dictated  to  by  a  truculent  young 
lieutenant  who  spoke  his  mind  upon  all  occasions. 

"  I  shall  attack  them  at  daybreak,"  he  said  curtly. 
"  I  have  one  hundred  and  thirty  good  men ;  and  has 
not  Captain  Gillespie  joined  me  with  his  battalion  ? 
Never  shall  it  be  said  that  I  turned  aside  to  avoid  a 
handful  of  boasting  Californians.  Now  go  and  get 
an  hour's  sleep  before  we  start." 

The  young  officer  shrugged  his  shoulders,  saluted, 
and  walked  down  the  line  of  tents.  A  man  emerged 
from  one  of  them,  and  he  recognized  Russell. 

"  Hello !   Ned,"  he  said.    "  How's  the  arm  ?  " 

"  'Twas  only  a  scratch.  Is  Altimira  down  there 
with  Pico,  do  you  know  ?  He  is  a  brave  fellow !  I 
respect  that  man ;  but  we  have  an  account  to  settle, 
and  I  hope  it  will  be  done  on  the  battle-field." 

"He  is  with  Pico  and  he  has  done  some  good 
fighting.  Most  of  the  Californians  have  :  they  know 
how  to  fight  and  they  are  perfectly  fearless. 
Kearney  will  find  it  out  to-morrow.  He  is  mad  to 
attack  them.  Why,  his  men  are  actually  cadaverous. 
Bueno !  as  they  say  here :  Stockton  sent  me  to  guide 
him  to  San  Diego.  If  he  prefers  to  go  through  the 
enemy's  lines  there  is  nothing  for  me  to  do  but  take 
him." 

"  Yes,  but  we  may  surprise  them.  I  wish  to  God 
this  imitation  war  were  over ! " 

"  It  will  be  real  enough  before  you  get  through. 
Don't  worry.  Well,  good-night.  Luck  to  your  skin." 


114        THE  EAfiS  OF  TWENTY  AMERICANS. 

At  daybreak  the  little  army  marched  down  the 
butte,  shivering  with  cold,  wet  to  the  skin.  Those 
on  horseback  naturally  proceeded  more  rapidly 
than  those  mounted  upon  the  clumsy,  stubborn 
mules ;  and  Captain  Johnson,  who  led  the  advance 
guard  of  twelve  dragoons,  found  himself,  when  he 
came  in  sight  of  the  enemy's  camp,  some  distance 
ahead  of  the  main  body  of  Kearney's  small  army. 
To  his  surprise  he  saw  that  the  Californians  were 
not  only  awake,  but  horsed  and  apparently  awaiting 
him.  Whether  he  was  fired  by  valor  or  despera- 
tion at  the  sight  is  a  disputed  point ;  but  with  a 
brilliant  lack  of  judgment  he  made  a  sudden  dash 
down  the  hill  and  across  the  river,  almost  flinging 
himself  upon  the  lances  of  the  Californians. 

Captain  Moore,  who  was  ambling  down  the  hill  on 
an  old  white  horse  at  the  head  of  fifty  dragoons 
mounted  on  mules,  spurred  his  beast  as  he  witnessed 
the  foolish  charge  of  the  advance,  and  arrived  upon 
the  field  in  time  to  see  Johnson  fall  dead  and  to  take 
his  place.  Pico,  seeing  that  reinforcements  were 
coming,  began  to  retreat,  followed  hotly  by  Moore 
and  the  horsed  dragoons.  Suddenly,  however, 
Fernando  Altimira  raised  himself  in  his  stirrups, 
looked  back,  laughed  and  galloped  across  the  field 
to  General  Pico. 

"  Look !  "  he  said.  "  Only  a  few  men  on  horses 
are  after  us.  The  mules  are  stumbling  half  a  mile 
behind." 

Pico  wheeled  about,  gave  the  word  of  command, 
and  bore  down  upon  the  Americans.  Then  followed 


THE  EARS  OF  TWENTY  AMERICANS.        115 

a  hand-to-hand  conflict,  the  Californians  lancing  and 
using  their  pistols  with  great  dexterity,  the  Ameri- 
cans doing  the  best  they  could  with  their  rusty 
sabers  and  clubbed  guns. 

They  were  soon  reinforced  by  Moore's  dragoons 
and  Gillespie's  battalion,  despite  the  unwilling 
mules ;  but  the  brutes  kicked  and  bucked  at  every 
pistol  shot  and  fresh  cloud  of  smoke.  The  poor  old 
horses  wheezed  and  panted,  but  stood  their  ground 
when  not  flung  out  of  position  by  the  frantic  mules. 
The  officers  and  soldiers  of  the  United  States  army 
were  a  sorry  sight,  and  in  pointed  contrast  to  the 
graceful  Californians  on  their  groomed  steeds,  hand- 
somely trapped,  curveting  and  rearing  and  pranc- 
ing as  lightly  as  if  on  the  floor  of  a  circus.  Kearney 
cursed  his  own  stupidity,  and  Pico  laughed  in  his 
face.  Beale  felt  satisfaction  and  compunction  in 
saturating  the  silk  and  silver  of  one  fine  saddle  with 
the  blood  of  its  owner.  The  point  of  the  dying 
man's  lance  pierced  his  face,  but  he  noted  the  bleach- 
ing of  Kearney's,  as  one  dragoon  after  another  was 
flung  upon  the  sharp  rocks  over  which  his  bewil- 
dered brute  stumbled,  or  was  caught  and  held  aloft 
in  the  torturing  arms  of  the  cacti. 

On  the  edge  of  the  battle  two  men  had  forgotten 
the  Aztec  Eagle  and  the  Stars  and  Stripes ;  they 
fought  for  love  of  a  woman.  Neither  had  had  time 
to  draw  his  pistol;  they  fought  with  lance  and 
saber,  thrusting  and  parrying.  Both  were  skilful 
swordsmen,  but  Altimira's  horse  was  far  superior 
to  Russell's,  and  he  had  the  advantage  of  weapons. 


116       THE  EARS  OF  TWENTY  AMERICANS. 

"  One  or  the  other  die  on  the  rocks,"  said  the  Cal- 
ifornian,  "  and  si  I  kill  you  I  marry  Benicia." 

Russell  made  no  reply.  He  struck  aside  the  man's 
lance  and  wounded  his  wrist.  But  Altimira  was 
too  excited  to  feel  pain.  His  face  was  quivering 
with  passion.  Russell  was  calm ;  but  the  cold  fury 
in  his  eyes  boded  no  quarter  for  his  enemy. 

It  is  not  easy  to  parry  a  lance  with  a  saber,  and 
still  more  difficult  to  get  close  enough  to  wound  the 
man  who  wields  it.  Russell  rose  suddenly  in  his 
stirrups,  described  a  rapid  half  circle  with  his 
weapon,  brought  it  down  mid-way  upon  the  longer 
blade,  and  snapped  the  latter  in  two.  Altimira  gave 
a  cry  of  rage,  and  spurring  his  horse  sought  to  ride 
his  opponent  down ;  but  Russell  wheeled,  and  the 
two  men  simultaneously,  snatched  their  pistols  from 
the  holsters.  Altimira  fired  first,  but  his  hand  was 
unsteady,  and  his  ball  went  through  a  cactus.  Rus- 
sell raised  his  pistol  with  firm  wrist,  and  discharged 
it  full  in  the  face  of  the  Californian. 

Then  he  looked  over  the  field.  Moore,  fatally 
lanced,  lay  under  a  palm,  and  many  of  his  men 
were  about  him.  Gillespie  was  wounded,  Kearney 
had  received  an  ugly  thrust.  The  Calif ornians, 
upon  the  arrival  of  the  main  body  of  the  enemy's 
troops,  had  retreated  unpursued ;  the  mules  attached 
to  one  of  the  American  howitzers  were  scampering 
over  to  the  opposite  ranks,  much  to  the  consterna- 
tion of  Kearney.  The  sun,  looking  over  the  mount- 
ain, dissipated  the  gray  smoke,  and  cast  a  theatri- 
cal light  on  the  faces  of  the  dead.  Russell  bent  over 


THE  EARS  OF  TWENTY  AMERICANS.        117 

Altiraira.  His  head  was  shattered,  but  his  death 
was  avenged.  Never  had  an  American  troop  suf- 
fered a  more  humiliating  defeat.  Only  six  Califor- 
nians  lay  on  the  field ;  and  when  the  American  sur- 
geon, after  attending  to  his  own  wounded,  offered 
his  services  to  Pico's,  that  indomitable  general 
haughtily  replied  that  he  had  none. 

"  By  Jove ! "  said  Russell  to  Beale  that  night, 
"  you  know  your  Californians  !  I  am  prouder  than 
ever  of  having  married  one !  That  army  is  of  the 
stuff  of  which  my  mother-in-law  is  made !  " 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

THAT  was  a  gay  Christmas  at  Monterey,  despite 
the  barricades  in  the  street.  News  had  come  of  the 
defeat  of  Kearney  at  San  Pasqual,  and  the  Monte- 
reiios,  inflated  with  hope  and  pride,  gave  little 
thought  to  the  fact  that  his  forces  were  now  joined 
with  Stockton's  at  San  Diego. 

On  Christmas  eve  light  streamed  from  every 
window,  bonfires  blazed  on  the  hills ;  the  streets 
were  illuminated,  and  every  one  was  abroad.  The 
clear,  warm  night  was  ablaze  with  fireworks ;  men 
and  women  were  in  their  gala  gowns ;  rockets  shot 
upwards  amidst  shrieks  of  delight  which  mingled 
oddly  with  the  rolling  of  drums  at  muster;  even 
the  children  caught  the  enthusiasm,  religious  and 
patriotic. 


118        THE  EARS  OF  TWENTY  AMEEICANS. 

"  1  suppose  you  would  be  glad  to  see  even  your 
friends  driven  out,"  said  Brotherton  to  Dona  Eusta- 
quia,  as  they  walked  through  the  brilliant  town 
toward  the  church :  the  bells  called  them  to  witness 
the  dramatic  play  of  "  The  Shepherds." 

"I  be  glad  to  see  the  impertinent  flag  come 
down,"  said  she  frankly;  "but  you  can  make 
resignation  from  the  army,  and  have  a  little  store 
on  Alvarado  Street.  You  can  have  beautiful  silks 
and  crepes  from  America.  I  buy  of  you." 

"Thanks,"  he  said  grimly.  "You  would  put  a 
dunce  cap  on  poor  America,  and  stand  her  in  a 
corner.  If  I  resign,  Dona  Eustaquia,  it  will  be  to 
become  a  ranchero,  not  a  shopkeeper.  To  tell  the 
truth,  I  have  little  desire  to  leave  California  again." 

"  But  you  were  make  for  the  fight,"  she  said,  look- 
ing up  with  some  pride  at  the  tall  military  figure, 
the  erect  head  and  strong  features.  "  You  not  were 
make  to  lie  in  the  hammock  and  horseback  all  day." 

"But  I  should  do  a  good  deal  else,  seiiora.  I 
should  raise  cattle  with  some  method  ;  and  I  should 
have  a  library — and  a  wife." 

"  Ah  !  you  go  to  marry  ?  " 

"  Some  day,  I  hope.  It  would  be  lonely  to  be  a 
ranchero  without  a  wife." 

"  Sure." 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  those  women  ?  " 

A  group  of  old  women  stood  by  the  roadside. 
Their  forms  were  bent,  their  brown  faces  gnarled 
like  apples.  Some  were  a  shapeless  mass  of  fat, 
others  were  parchment  and  bone ;  about  the  head 


TUE  EARS  OF  TWENTY  AMERICANS.      119 

and  shoulders  of  each  was  a  thick  black  shawl. 
Near  them  stood  a  number  of  young  girls  clad  in 
muslin  petticoats,  flowered  with  purple  and  scarlet. 
Bright  satin  shoes  were  on  their  feet,  cotton 
rebosas  covered  their  pretty,  pert  little  heads.  All 
were  looking  in  one  direction,  whispering  and  cross- 
ing themselves. 

Doiia  Eustaquia  glanced  over  her  shoulder,  then 
leaned  heavily  on  Brotherton's  arm. 

"  It  is  Benicia,"  she  said.  "  It  is  because  she  was 
cursed  and  is  with  child  that  they  cross  themselves." 

Brotherton  held  her  arm  closely  and  laid  his  hand 
on  hers,  but  he  spoke  sternly. 

"  The  curse  is  not  likely  to  do  her  any  harm. 
You  prayed  that  she  should  die  when  happiest,  and 
you  have  done  your  best  to  make  her  wretched." 

She  did  not  reply  and  they  walked  slowly  on- 
ward. Benicia  followed,  leaning  on  the  arm  of  an 
Indian  servant.  Her  friends  avoided  her,  for  they 
bitterly  resented  Altimira's  death.  But  she  gave 
them  little  regret.  Since  her  husband  could  not  be 
with  her  on  this  Christmas  eve  she  wished  only  for 
reconciliation  with  her  mother.  In  spite  of  the 
crowd  she  folio  wed  close  behind  Dona  Eustaquia  and 
Brotherton,  holding  her  head  proudly,  but  ready  to 
fall  at  the  feet  of  the  woman  she  worshiped. 

"My  friend,"  said  Doiia  Eustaquia,  after  a  mo- 
ment, "  perhaps  it  is  best  that  I  do  not  forgive  her. 
Was  she  happy,  then  might  the  curse  come  true." 

"  She  has  enough  else  to  make  her  unhappy. 
Besides,  who  ever  heard  of  a  curse  coming  true? 


120      THE  EARS  OF  TWENTY  AMERICANS. 

It  has  worked  its  will  already  for  the  matter  of  that. 
You  kept  your  child  from  happiness  with  her  hus- 
band during  the  brief  time  she  had  him.  The 
bitterness  of  death  is  a  small  matter  beside  the 
bitterness  of  life.  You  should  be  satisfied." 

"You  are  hard,  my  friend." 

"  I  see  your  other  faults  only  to  respect  and  love 
them." 

"Does  she  look  ill,  Captain?" 

"She  cannot  be  expected  to  look  like  the  old 
Benicia.  Of  course  she  looks  ill,  and  needs  care." 

"Look  over  the  shoulder.  Does  she  walk 
heavily?" 

"  Very.    But  as  haughtily  as  do  you." 

"  Talk  of  other  things  for  a  little  while,  my  friend." 

"Truly  there  is  much  to  claim  the  interest  to- 
night. This  may  be  an  old  scene  to  you,  but  it  is 
novel  and  fascinating  to  me.  How  lovely  are  those 
stately  girls,  half  hidden  by  their  rebosas,  telling 
their  beads  as  they  hurry  along.  It  is  the  very 
coquetry  of  religion.  And  those — but  here  we 
are." 

The  church  was  handsomer  without  than  within, 
for  the  clever  old  padres  who  built  it  had  more 
taste  than  their  successors.  About  the  whitewashed 
walls  of  the  interior  were  poor  copies  of  celebrated 
paintings — the  Passion  of  Christ,  and  an  extraordi- 
nary group  of  nude  women  and  grinning  men  repre- 
senting the  temptation  of  St.  Anthony.  In  a  glass 
case  a  beautiful  figure  of  the  Saviour  reclined  on  a 
stiff  couch  clumsily  covered  with  costly  stuffs.  The 


THE  EARS  OF  TWENTY  AMERICANS.        121 

Virgin  was  gowned  much  like  the  aristocratic  ladies 
of  Monterey,  and  the  altar  was  a  rainbow  of  tawdry 
colors. 

But  the  ceremonies  were  interesting,  and  Brother- 
ton  forgot  Benicia  for  the  hour.  After  the  mass  the 
priest  held  out  a  small  waxen  image  of  the  infant 
Jesus,  and  all  approached  and  kissed  it.  Then  from 
without  came  the  sound  of  a  guitar ;  the  worship- 
ers arose  and  ranged  themselves  against  the  wall ; 
six  girls  dressed  as  shepherdesses,  a  man  repre- 
senting Lucifer,  two  others,  a  hermit  and  the  lazy 
vagabond  Bartola,  a  boy,  the  archangel  Gabriel, 
entered  the  church.  They  bore  banners  and 
marched  to  the  center  of  the  building,  then  acted 
their  drama  with  religious  fervor. 

The  play  began  with  the  announcement  by 
Gabriel  of  the  birth  of  the  Saviour,  and  exhorta- 
tions to  repair  to  the  manger.  On  the  road  came  the 
temptation  of  Lucifer;  the  archangel  appeared  once 
more ;  a  violent  altercation  ensued  in  which  all  took 
part,  and  finally  the  prince  of  darkness  was  routed. 
Songs  and  fanciful  by-play,  brief  sermons,  music, 
gay  and  solemn,  diversified  the  strange  performance. 
When  all  was  over  the  players  were  followed  by  an 
admiring  crowd  to  the  entertainment  awaiting  them. 

"  Is  it  not  beautiful — our  Los  Pastores  ? "  de- 
manded Dona  Eustaquia,  looking  up  at  Brotherton, 
her  fine  face  aglow  with  enthusiasm.  "  Do  not  you 
feel  the  desire  to  be  a  Catholic,  my  friend  ?  " 

"  Rather  would  I  see  two  good  Catholics  united, 
dear  seiiora,"  and  he  turned  her  suddenly  to  Benicia, 


122      THE  EARS  OF  TWENTY  AMERICANS. 

who  also  had  remained  in  the  church,  almost  at  her 
mother's  side. 

"  Mamacita  !  "  cried  Benicia. 

Dona  Eustaquia  opened  her  arms  and  caught  the 
girl  passionately  to  her  heart ;  and  Brotherton  left 
the  church. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

THE  April  flowers  were  on  the  hills.  Beds  of 
gold-red  poppies  and  silver-blue  baby  eyes  were  set 
like  tiles  amidst  the  dense  green  undergrowth  be- 
neath the  pines,  and  on  the  natural  lawns  about  the 
white  houses.  Although  hope  of  driving  forth  the 
intruder  had  gone  forever  in  January,  Monterey  had 
resumed  in  part  her  old  gayety ;  despair  had  bred 
philosophy.  But  Monterey  was  Monterey  no  longer. 
An  American  alcalde  with  a  power  vested  in  no 
judge  of  the  United  States  ruled  over  her ;  to  add 
insult  to  injury  he  had  started  a  newspaper.  The 
town  was  full  of  Americans;  the  United  States  was 
constructing  a  fort  on  the  hill;  above  all,  worse 
than  all,  the  Californians  were  learning  the  value 
of  money.  Their  sun  was  sloping  to  the  west. 

A  thick  India  shawl  hung  over  the  window  of  Be- 
nicia's  old  room  in  her  mother's  house,  shutting  out 
the  perfume  of  the  hills.  A  carpet  had  been  thrown 
on  the  floor,  candles  burned  in  the  pretty  gold  candle- 
sticks that  had  stood  on  the  altar  since  Benicia's 


THE  EARS  OF  TWENTY  AMERICANS.      123 

childhood ;  on  the  little  brass  bedstead  lay  Benicia, 
very  pale  and  very  beautiful,  her  transparent  skin 
faintly  reflecting  the  pink  of  the  satin  coverlet. 
By  the  bed  sat  an  old  woman  of  the  people;  her 
ragged  white  locks  were  bound  about  by  a  fillet  of 
black  silk ;  her  face,  dark  as  burnt  umber,  was 
seamed  and  lined  like  a  withered  prune ;  even  her 
long,  broad  nose  was  wrinkled ;  her  dull  eyes  re- 
sembled mud-puddles ;  her  big  underlip  w*s  pursed 
up  as  if  she  had  been  speaking  mincing  words,  and 
her  chin  was  covered  with  a  short  white  stubble ; 
Over  her  coarse  smock  and  gown  she  wore  a  black 
cotton  rebosa.  In  her  arms  she  held  an  infant  muf- 
fled in  a  white  lace  mantilla. 

Dona  Eustaquia  came  in  and  bent  over  the  baby, 
her  strong  face  alight  with  joy. 

"  Didst  thou  ever  nurse  so  beautiful  a  baby  ?  "  she 
demanded. 

The  old  woman  grunted;  she  had  heard  that 
question  before. 

"See  how  pink  and  smooth  it  is — not  red  and 
wrinkled  like  other  babies  !  How  becoming  is  that 
mantilla  !  No,  she  shall  not  be  wrapped  in  blankets, 
cap  and  shawls." 

"  She  catch  cold,  most  likely,"  grunted  the 
nurse. 

"  In  this  weather  ?  No ;  it  is  soft  as  midsummer. 
I  cannot  get  cool.  Ay,  she  looks  like  a  rosebud  ly- 
ing in  a  fog-bank  ! "  She  touched  the  baby's  cheek 
with  her  finger,  then  sat  on  the  bed,  beside  her 
daughter.  "  And  how  dost  thou  feel,  my  little  one  ? 


124       THE  EAltS  OF  TWENTY  AMERICANS. 

Thou  wert  a  baby  thyself  but  yesterday,  and  thou 
art  not  much  more  to-day." 

"  I  feel  perfectly  well,  my  mother,  and — ay,  Dios, 
so  happy  !  Where  is  Edourdo  ?  " 

"  Of  course  !  Always  the  husband  !  They  are 
all  alike!  Hast  thou  not  thy  mother  and  thy 
baby?" 

"  I  adore  you  both,  rnamacita,  but  I  want  Edourdo. 
Where  is  he  ?  " 

Her  mother  grimaced.  "  I  suppose  it  is  no  use  to 
protest.  W^ell,  my  little  one,  I  think  he  is  at  this 
moment  on  the  hill  with  Lieutenant  Ord." 

"  Why  did  not  he  come  to  see  me  before  he  went 
out?" 

"  He  did,  my  daughter,  but  thou  wert  asleep.  He 
kissed  thee  and  stole  away." 

"Where?" 

"  Right  there  on  your  cheek,  one  inch  below  your 
eyelashes." 

"  When  will  he  return  ?  " 

"  Holy  Mary  !  For  dinner,  sure,  and  that  will  be 
in  an  hour." 

"  When  can  I  get  up  ?  " 

"  In  another  week.  Thou  art  so  well !  I  would 
not  have  thee  draw  too  heavily  on  thy  little  strength. 
Another  month  and  thou  wilt  not  remember  that 
thou  hast  been  ill.  Then  we  will  go  to  the  rancho 
where  thou  and  thy  little  one  will  have  sun  all  day 
and  no  fog." 

" Have  I  not  a  good  husband,  rnamacita?  " 

"  Yes ;  I  love  him  like  my  own  son.    Had  he  been 


THE  EAES  OF -TWENTY  AMERICANS.  ]     125 

unkind  to  thee  I  would  have  killed  him  with  my 
own  hands  ;  but  as  he  has  his  lips  to  thy  little  slip- 
per, I  forgive  him  for  being  an  American." 

"And  you  no  longer  wish  for  a  necklace  of 
American  ears !  Oh,  mamma ! " 

Dona  Eustaquia  frowned,  then  sighed.  "  I  do  not 
know  the  American  head  for  which  I  have  not  more 
like  than  hate,  and  they  are  welcome  to  their  ears  ; 
but  the  spirit  of  that  wish  is  in  my  heart  yet,  my 
child.  Our  country  has  been  taken  from  us ;  we 
are  aliens  in  our  own  land ;  it  is  the  American's. 
They,  holy  God! — permit  us  to  live  here!" 

"  But  they  like  us  better  than  their  own  women." 

"  Perhaps ;  they  are  men  and  like  what  they  have 
not  had  too  long." 

"  Mamacita,  I  am  thirsty." 

"  What  wilt  thou  have  ?    A  glass  of  water  ?  " 

"  Water  has  no  taste." 

"I  know!" 

Doiia  Eustaquia  left  the  room  and  returned  with 
an  orange.  "  This  will  be  cool  and  pleasant  on  so 
warm  a  day.  It  is  just  a  little  sour,"  she  said ;  but 
the  nurse  raised  her  bony  hand. 

"  Do  not  give  her  that,"  she  said  in  her  harsh 
voice.  "  It  is  too  soon." 

"  Nonsense !  The  baby  is  two  weeks  old.  Why, 
I  ate  fruit  a  week  after  childing.  Look  how  dry  her 
mouth  is !  It  will  do  her  good." 

She  pared  the  orange  and  gave  it  to  Benicia, 
who  ate  it  gratefully. 

"It  is  very  good,  mamita.     You  will  spoil  me 


126       THE  EAES  OF  TWENTY  AMERICANS. 

always,  but  that  is  because  you  are  so  good.  And 
one  day  I  hope  you  will  be  as  happy  as  your  little 
daughter ;  for  there  are  other  good  Americans  in 
the  world.  No  ?  mamma.  I  think Mamacita ! " 

She  sprang  upward  with  a  loud  cry,  the  body  curv- 
ing rigidly ;  her  soft  brown  eyes  stared  horribly ; 
froth  gathered  about  her  mouth  ;  she  gasped  once  or 
twice,  her  body  writhing  from  the  agonized  arms 
that  strove  to  hold  it,  then  fell  limply  down,  her 
features  relaxing. 

"  She  is  dead,"  said  the  nurse. 

"  Benicia  !  "  whispered  Dona  Eustaquia.  "  Be- 
nicia ! " 

"  You  have  killed  her,"  said  the  old  woman,  as 
she  drew  the  mantilla  about  the  baby's  face. 

Dofia  Eustaquia  dropped  the  body  and  moved 
backward  from  the  bed.  She  put  out  her  hands 
and  went  gropingly  from  the  room  to  her  own,  and 
from  thence  to  the  sala.  Brotherton  came  forward  to 
meet  her.  "  Eustaquia  !  "  he  cried.  "  My  friend ! 
My  dear!  What  has  happened ?  What " 

She  raised  her  hand  and  pointed  to  the  cross ;  the 
mark  of  the  dagger  was  still  there. 

"  Benicia ! "  she  uttered.  "  The  curse ! "  and  then 
she  fell  at  his  feet. 


THE  WASH-TUB  MAIL 


PART  I. 

"  MARIQUITA  !  Thou  good-for-nothing,  thou  art 
wringing  that  smock  in  pieces !  Thy  senora  will 
beat  thee !  Holy  heaven,  but  it  is  hot !  " 

"  For  that  reason  I  hurry,  old  Faquita.  Were  I 
as  slow  as  thou  I  should  cook  in  my  own  tallow." 

"  Aha,  thou  art  very  clever  !  But  I  have  no  wish 
to  go  back  to  the  rancho  and  wash  for  the  cooks. 
Ay,  yi !  I  wonder  will  La  Tulita  ever  give  me  her 
bridal  clothes  to  wash.  I  have  no  faith  that  little 
flirt  will  marry  the  Senor  Don  Ramon  Garcia.  He 
did  not  well  to  leave  Monterey  until  after  the  wed- 
ding. And  to  think Ay  !  yi ! 

"  Thou  hast  a  big  letter  for  the  wash-tub  mail, 
Faquita." 

"  Aha,  my  Francesca,  thou  hast  interest !  I 
thought  thou  wast  thinking  only  of  the  bandits." 

Francesca,  who  was  holding  a  plunging  child  be- 
tween her  knees,  actively  inspecting  its  head,  grunted 
but  did  not  look  up,  and  the  oracle  of  the  wash- tubs, 
provokingly,  with  slow  movements  of  her  knotted 

127 


THE  WASH-TUB  MAIL. 

coffee-colored  arms,  flapped  a  dainty  skirt,  half- 
covered  with  drawn  work,  before  she  condescended 
to  speak  further. 

Twenty  women  or  more,  young  and  old,  dark  as 
pine  cones,  stooped  or  sat,  knelt  or  stood  about  deep 
stone  tubs  sunken  in  the  ground  at  the  foot  of  a 
hill  on  the  outskirts  of  Monterey.  The  pines  were 
shadowy  on  the  long  slope  above  them,  but  the  sun 
was  overhead.  The  little  white  town  looked  life- 
less under  its  baking  red  tiles,  at  this  hour  of  siesta. 
On  the  blue  bay  rode  a  warship  flying  the  American 
colors.  The  atmosphere  was  so  clear,  the  view  so 
uninterrupted,  that  the  younger  women  fancied  they 
could  read  the  name  on  the  prow  :  the  town  was  on 
the  right ;  between  the  bay  and  the  tubs  lay  only 
the  meadow,  the  road,  the  lake  and  the  marsh.  A 
few  yards  farther  down  the  road  rose  a  hill  where 
white  slabs  and  crosses  gleamed  beneath  the  trees. 
The  roar  of  the  surf  came  refreshingly  to  their  hot 
ears.  It  leaped  angrily,  they  fancied,  to  the  old  fort 
on  the  hill  where  men  in  the  uniform  of  the  United 
States  moved  about  with  unsleeping  vigilance.  It 
was  the  year  1847.  The  Americans  had  come  and 
conquered.  War  was  over,  but  the  invaders  guarded 
their  new  possessions. 

The  women  about  the  tubs  still  bitterly  protested 
against  the  downfall  of  California,  still  took  an  ab- 
sorbing interest  in  all  matters,  domestic,  social  and 
political.  For  those  old  women  with  grizzled  locks 
escaping  from  a  cotton  handkerchief  wound  band- 
wise  about  their  head,  their  ample  form  untram- 


THE  WASH-TUB  MAIL.  129 

melled  by  the  flowing  garment  of  calico,  those  girls 
in  bright  skirts  and  white  short-sleeved  smock  and 
young  hair  braided,  knew  all  the  news  of  the  coun- 
try, past  and  to  come,  many  hours  in  advance  of  the 
dons  and  doiias  whose  clothes  they  washed  in  the 
great  stone  tubs.  The  Indians,  domestic  and  roving, 
were  their  faithful  friends. 

"  Sainted  Mary,  but  thou  art  more  slow  than  a 
gentleman  that  walks !  "  cried  Mariquita,  an  im- 
patient looking  girl.  "  Read  us  the  letter.  La  Tulita 
is  the  prettiest  girl  in  Monterey  now  that  the  seiiorita 
Ysabel  Herrerra  lies  beneath  the  rocks,  and  Benicia 
Ortega  has  died  of  her  childing.  But  she  is  a  flirt — 
that  Tulita!  Four  of  the  Gringos  are  under  her 
little  slipper  this  year,  and  she  turn  over  the  face 
and  roll  in  the  dirt.  But  Don  Ramon,  so  handsome, 
so  rich — surely  she  will  marry  him." 

Faquita  shook  her  head  slowly  and  wisely.  "  There 
—  come — yesterday — from — the  —  South — a — young 
— lieutenant — of — America."  She  paused  a  moment, 
then  proceeded  leisurely,  though  less  provokingly. 
"He  come  over  the  great  American  deserts  with 
General  Kearney  last  year  and  help  our  men  to  eat 
the  dust  in  San  Diego.  He  come  only  yesterday  to 
Monterey,  and  La  Tulita'is  like  a  little  wild-cat  ever 
since.  She  box  my  ears  this  morning  when  I  tell 
her  that  the  Americans  are  bandoleros,  and  say  she 
never  marry  a  Californian.  And  never  Don  Ramon 
Garcia,  ay,  yi !  " 

By  this  time  the  fine  linen  was  floating  at  will 
upon  the  water,  or  lying  in  great  heaps  at  the  bottom 
9 


130  THE  WAS3-TVB  MAIL. 

of  the  clear  pools.  The  suffering  child  scampered 
up  through  the  pines  with  whoops  of  delight.  The 
washing- women  were  pressed  close  about  Faquita, 
who  stood  with  thumbs  on  her  broad  hips,  the  lin- 
gers contracting  and  snapping  as  she  spoke,  wisps 
of  hair  bobbing  back  and  forth  about  her  shrewd 
black  eyes  and  scolding  mouth. 

"  Who  is  he  ?  Where  she  meet  him  ?"  cried  the 
audience.  "Oh,  thou  old  carreta!  Why  canst  thou 
not  talk  faster?" 

"  If  thou  hast  not  more  respect,  senorita  Mari- 
quita,  thou  wilt  hear  nothing.  But  it  is  this.  There 
is  a  ball  last  night  at  Dona  Maria  Ampudia's  house 
for  La  Tulita.  She  look  handsome,  that  witch ! 
Holy  Mary !  When  she  walk  it  was  like  the  tule  in 
the  river.  You  know.  Why  she  have  that  name  ? 
She  wear  white,  of  course,  but  that  frock — it  is  like 
the  cobweb,  the  cloud.  She  has  not  the  braids  like 
the  other  girls,  but  the  hair,  soft  like  black  feathers, 
fall  down  to  the  feet.  And  the  eyes  like  blue  stars ! 
You  know  the  eyes  of  La  Tulita.  The  lashes  so 
long,  and  black  like  the  hair.  And  the  sparkle! 
No  eyes  ever  sparkle  like  those.  The  eyes  of  Ysabel 
Herrerra  look  like  they  want  the  world  and  never 
can  get  it.  Benicia's,  pobrecita,  just  dance  like  the 
child's.  But  La  Tulita's !  They  sparkle  like  the 
devil  sit  behind  and  strike  fire  out  red-hot  iron " 

"  Mother  of  God  !  "  cried  Mariquita,  impatiently, 
"  We  all  know  that  thou  art  daft  about  that  witch ! 
And  we  know  how  she  looks.  Tell  us  the  story." 

"  Hush  thy  voice  or  thou  wilt  hear  nothing.    It  is 


THE  WAS3-TUZ  MAIL.  131 

this  way.  La  Tulita  have  the  castinets  and  just 
float  up  and  down  the  sala,  while  all  stand  back  and 
no  breathe  only  when  they  shout.  I  am  in  the  gar- 
den in  the  middle  the  house  and  I  stand  on  a  box 
and  look  through  the  doors.  Ay,  the  roses  and  the 
nasturtiums  smell  so  sweet  in  that  little  garden! 
Well !  She  dance  so  beautiful,  I  think  the  roof  go 
to  jump  off  so  she  can  float  up  and  live  on  one 
the  gold  stars  all  by  herself.  Her  little  feet  just 
twinkle !  Well !  The  door  open  and  Lieutenant 
Ord  come  in.  He  have  with  him  another  young 
man,  not  so  handsome,  but  so  straight,  so  sharp  eye 
and  tight  mouth.  He  look  at  La  Tulita  like  he  think 
she  belong  to  America  and  is  for  him,  sure.  Lieu- 
tenant Ord  go  up  to  -Dona  Maria  and  say,  so  polite : 
'I  take  the  liberty  to  bring  Lieutenant '-I  no  can  re- 
member that  name,  so  American  !  'He  come  to-day 
from  San  Diego  and  will  stay  with  us  for  awhile.' 
And  Dona  Maria  she  smile  and  say,  very  sweet, 
*  Very  glad  when  I  have  met  all  of  our  conquerors.' 
And  he  turn  red  and  speak  very  bad  Spanish  and 
look,  look  at  La  Tulita.  Then  Lieutenant  Ord  speak 
to  him  in  English  and  he  nod  the  head,  and  Lieu- 
tenant Ord  tell  Dona  Maria  that  his  friend  like  be 
introduced  to  La  Tulita,  and  she  say  *  Very  well,' 
and  take  him  over  to  her  who  is  now  sit  down.  He 
ask  her  to  waltz  right  away,  and  he  waltz  very  well, 
and  then  they  dance  again,  and  once  more.  And 
then  they  sit  down  and  talk,  talk.  God  of  my  soul, 
but  the  caballeros  are  mad !  And  Dona  Maria !  By 
and  by  she  can  stand  it  no  more  and  she  go  up  to 


132  THE  WASH-TUB  MAIL. 

La  Tulita  and  take  away  from  the  American  and 
say,  * Do  you  forget — and  for  a  bandolero — that  you 
are  engage  to  my  nephew  ? '  And  La  Tulita  toss 
the  head  and  say,  'How  can  I  remember  Ramon 
Garcia  when  he  is  in  Yerba  Buena  ?  I  forget  he  is 
alive.'  And  Dona  Maria  is  very  angry.  The  eyes 
snap.  But  just  then  the  little  sister  of  La  Tulita 
run  into  the  sala,  the  face  red  like  the  American 
flag.  <  Ay,  Herminia ! '  she  just  gasp,  «  The  donas ! 
The  donas !  It  has  come ! ' " 

"  The  donas !  "  cried  the  washing- women,  old  and 
young.  "Did'st  thou  see  it,  Faquita?  Oh,  sure. 
Tell  us,  what  did  he  send  ?  Is  he  a  generous  bride- 
groom? Were  there  jewels  ?  And  satins?  Of  what 
was  the  rosary !  " 

"  Hush  the  voice  or  you  will  hear  nothing.  The 
girls  all  jump  up  and  clap  their  hands  and  they  cry 
4  Come,  Herminia.  Come  quick !  Let  us  go  and  see.' 
Only  La  Tulita  hold  the  head  very  high  and  look 
like  the  donas  is  nothing  to  her,  and  the  Lieutenant 
look  very  surprise,  and  she  talk  to  him  very  fast  like 
she  did  no  want  him  to  know  what  they  mean.  But 
the  girls  just  take  her  hands  and  pull  her  out  the 
house.  I  am  after — sure.  La  Tulita  look  very  mad, 
but  she  cannot  help,  and  in  five  minutes  we  are  at 
the  Casa  Rivera,  and  the  girls  scream  and  clap  the 
hands  in  the  sala  for  Dona  Carmen  she  have  unpack 
the  donas,  and  the  beautiful  things  are  on  the  tables 
and  the  sofas  and  the  chairs.  Mother  of  God! " 

"  Go  on !  Go  on ! "  cried  a  dozen  exasperated 
voices. 


THE  WASH-TUB  MAIL.  133 

"  Well !  Such  a  donas.  Ay,  he  is  a  generous  lover. 
A  yellow  crepe  shawl  embroidered  with  red  roses. 
A  white  one  with  embroidery  so  thick  it  can  stand 
up.  A  string  of  pearls  from  Baja  California  (Ay, 
poor  Ysabel  Herrerra !).  Hoops  of  gold  for  the  lit- 
tle ears  of  La  Tulita.  A  big  chain  of  California  gold. 
A  set  of  topaz  with  pearls  all  round.  A  rosary  of 
amethyst — purple  like  the  violets.  A  big  pin  painted 
with  the  Ascension,  and  diamonds  all  round.  Silks 
and  satins  for  gowns.  A  white  lace  mantilla,  God 
of  my  soul !  A  black  one  for  the  visits.  And  the 
night-gowns  like  cobwebs.  The  petticoats!"  She 
stopped  abruptly. 

"  And  the  smocks  ?  "  cried  her  listeners,  excitedly. 
"  The  smocks  ?  They  are  more  beautiful  than  Blan- 
dina's  ?  They  were  pack  in  rose-leaves " 

"  Ay  !  yi !  yi !  yi !  "  The  old  woman  dropped  her 
head  on  her  breast  and  waved  her  arms.  She  was  a 
study  for  despair.  Even  she  did  not  suspect  how 
thoroughly  she  was  enjoying  herself. 

"What!  What!  Tell  us!  Quick,  thou  old 
snail.  They  were  not  fine?  They  had  not  em- 
broidery ?  " 

"  Hush  the  voices.  I  tell  you  when  I  am  ready. 
The  girls  are  like  crazy.  They  look  like  they  go  to 
eat  the  things.  Only  La  Tulita  sit  on  the  chair  in 
the  door  with  her  back  to  all  and  look  at  the  win- 
dows of  Dona  Maria.  They  look  like  a  long  row  of 
suns,  those  windows. 

"  I  am  the  one.  Suddenly  I  say  :  *  Where  are  the 
smocks  ? '  And  they  all  cry  :  *  Yes,  where  are  the 


134  'THE  WAS&-TUB  MAIL. 

smocks  ?  Let  us  see  if  he  will  be  a  good  husband. 
Dona  Carmen,  where  are  the  smocks  ? ' 

"  Dona  Carmen  turn  over  everything  in  a  hurry. 
'  I  did  not  think  of  the  smocks,'  she  say.  i  But  they 
must  be  here.  Everything  was  unpack  in  this  room.' 
She  lift  all  up,  piece  by  piece.  The  girls  help  and 
so  do  I.  La  Tulita  sit  still  but  begin  to  look  more 
interested.  We  search  everywhere — everywhere — 
for  twenty  minutes.  There — are — no — smocks  ! " 

"  God  of  my  life !  The  smocks !  He  did  not  for- 
get!" 

"  He  forget  the  smocks ! " 

There  was  an  impressive  pause.  The  women  were 
too  dumbfounded  to  comment.  Never  in  the  history 
of  Monterey,  at  least,  had  such  a  thing  happened  be- 
fore. 

Faquita  continued:  "The  girls  sit  down  on  the 
floor  and  cry.  Dona  Carmen  turn  very  white  and  go 
in  the  other  room.  Then  La  Tulita  jump  up  and 
walk  across  the  room.  The  lashes  fall  down  over  the 
eyes  that  look  like  she  is  California  and  have  con- 
quer America,  not  the  other  way.  The  nostrils  just 
jump.  She  laugh,  laugh,  laugh.  'So!'  she  say, 
*  My  rich  and  generous  and  ardent  bridegroom,  he 
forget  the  smocks  of  the  donas.  He  proclaim  as  if 
by  a  poster  on  the  streets  that  he  will  be  a  bad  hus- 
band, a  thoughtless,  careless,  indifferent  husband. 
He  has  vow  by  the  stars  that  he  adore  me.  He  has 
serenade  beneath  my  window  until  I  have  beg  for 
mercy.  He  persecute  my  mother.  And  now  he 


THE  WASH-TUB  MAIL.  135 

flings  the  insult  of  insults  in  my  teeth.  And  he  with 
six  married  sisters  ! ' 

"  The  girls  just  sob.  They  can  say  nothing.  No 
woman  forgive  that.  Then  she  say  loud :  <  Ana,' 
and  the  girl  run  in.  <  Ana,'  she  say,  '  pack  this  stuff 
and  tell  Jose  and  Marcos  take  it  up  to  the  house  of 
the  Seilor  Don  Ramon  Garcia.  I  have  no  use  for  it.' 
Then  she  say  to  me :  *  Faquita,  walk  back  to  Doiia 
Maria's  with  me,  no  ?  I  have  engagement  with  the 
American.'  And  I  go  with  her,  of  course ;  I  think  I 
go  jump  in  the  bay  if  she  tell  me ;  and  she  dance  all 
night  with  that  American.  He  no  look  at  another 
girl — all  have  the  eyes  so  red,  anyhow.  And  Doiia 
Maria  is  crazy  that  her  nephew  do  such  a  thing,  and 
La  Tulita  no  go  to  marry  him  now.  Ay,  that  witch ! 
She  have  the  excuse  and  she  take  it." 

For  a  few  moments  the  din  was  so  great  that  the 
crows  in  a  neighboring  grove  of  willows  sped  away 
in  fear.  The  women  talked  all  at  once,  at  the  top 
of  their  voice  and  with  no  falling  inflections.  So 
rich  an  assortment  of  expletives,  secular  and  relig- 
ious, such  individuality  yet  sympathy  of  comment, 
had  not  been  called  upon  for  duty  since  the  Seventh 
of  July,  a  year  before,  when  Commodore  Sloat  had 
run  up  the  American  flag  on  the  Custom-house. 
Finally  they  paused  to  recover  breath.  Mariquita's 
young  lungs  being  the  first  to  refill  she  demanded  of 
Faquita : 

"  And  Don  Ramon — when  does  he  return  ?  " 

"  In  two  weeks,  no  sooner," 


136  THE  WASH-TUB  MAIL. 


PART  II. 

Two  weeks  later  they  were  again  gathered  about 
the  tubs. 

For  a  time  after  arrival  they  forgot  La  Tulita — 
now  the  absorbing  topic  of  Monterey — in  a  new 
sensation.  Mariquita  had  appeared  with  a  basket 
of  unmistakable  American  underwear. 

"  What ! "  cried  Faquita,  shrilly.  "  Thou  wilt 
defile  these  tubs  with  the  linen  of  bandoleros  ?  Hast 
thou  had  thy  silly  head  turned  with  a  kiss  ?  Not 
one  shirt  shall  go  in  this  water." 

Mariquita  tossed  her  head  defiantly.  "  Captain 
Brotherton  say  the  Indian  women  break  his  clothes 
in  pieces.  They  know  not  how  to  wash  anything 
but  dish-rags.  And  does  he  not  go  to  marry  our 
Doiia  Eustaquia  ?  " 

"The  Captain  is  not  so  bad,"  admitted  Faquita. 
The  indignation  of  the  others  also  visibly  diminished: 
the  captain  had  been  very  kind  the  year  before  when 
gloom  lay  heavy  on  the  town.  "But,"  continued 
the  autocrat,  with  an  ominous  pressing  of  her  lips, 
"  sure  he  must  change  three  times  a  day.  Is  all  that 
Captain  Brotherton's  ?  " 

"  He  wear  many  shirts,"  began  Mariquita,  when 


THE  WASU-TUB  MAIL.  137 

Faquita  pounced  upon  the  basket  and  shook  its  con- 
tents to  the  grass. 

"  Aha !  It  seems  that  the  captain  has  sometimes 
the  short  legs  and  sometimes  the  long.  Sometimes 
he  put  the  tucks  in  his  arms,  I  suppose.  What 
meaning  has  this  ?  Thou  monster  of  hypocrisy  !  " 

The  old  women  scowled  and  snorted.  The  girls 
looked  sympathetic :  more  than  one  midshipman  had 
found  favor  in  the  lower  quarter. 

"  Well,"  said  Mariquita,  sullenly,  "  if  thou  must 
know,  it  is  the  linen  of  the  lieutenant  of  La  Tulita. 
Ana  ask  me  to  wash  it,  and  I  say  I  will." 

At  this  announcement  Faquita  squared  her  elbows 
and  looked  at  Mariquita  with  snapping  eyes. 

"  Oho,  seiiorita,  I  suppose  thou  wilt  say  next  that 
thou  knowest  what  means  this  flirtation !  Has  La 
Tulita  lost  her  heart,  perhaps?  And  Don  Ramon 
— dost  thou  know  why  he  leaves  Monterey  one  hour 
after  he  comes  ?  "  Her  tone  was  sarcastic,  but  in  it 
was  a  note  of  apprehension.' 

Mariquita  tossed  her  head  and  all  pressed  close 
about  the  rivals. 

"  What  dost  thou  know,  this  time  ?  "  inquired  the 
girl  provokingly.  "  Hast  thou  any  letter  to  read  to- 
day ?  Thou  dost  forget,  old  Faquita,  that  Ana  is 
my  friend " 

"  Throw  the  clothes  in  the  tubs,"  cried  Faquita, 
furiously.  "  Do  we  come  here  to  idle  and  gossip  ? 
Mariquita,  thou  hussy,  go  over  to  that  tub  by  thy- 
self and  wash  the  impertinent  American  rags.  Quick 
No  more  talk.  The  sun  goes  high." 


138  THE  WASH-TUB  MAIL. 

No  one  dared  disobey  the  queen  of  the  tubs,  and 
in  a  moment  the  women  were  kneeling  in  irregular 
rows,  tumbling  their  linen  into  the  water,  the  brown 
faces  and  bright  attire  making  a  picture  in  the  color- 
ous  landscape  which  some  native  artist  would  have 
done  well  to  preserve.  For  a  time  no  sound  was 
heard  but  the  distant  roar  of  the  surf,  the  sighing  of 
the  wind  through  the  pines  on  the  hill,  the  less 
romantic  grunts  of  the  women  and  the  swish  of  the 
linen  in  the  water.  Suddenly  Mariquita,  the  pro- 
scribed, exclaimed  from  her  segregated  tub : 

«  Look !    Look ! " 

Heads  flew  up  or  twisted  on  their  neck.  A  party 
of  young  people,  attended  by  a  dueiia,  was  crossing 
the  meadow  to  the  road.  At  the  head  of  the  proces- 
sion were  a  girl  and  a  man  to  whom  every  gaze  which 
should  have  been  intent  upon  washing- tubs  alone, 
was  directed.  The  girl  wore  a  pink  gown  and 
rebosa.  Her  extraordinary  grace  made  her  look 
taller  than  she  was  ;  the  slender  figure  swayed 
with  every  step.  Her  pink  lips  were  parted,  her 
blue,  starlike  eyes,  looked  upward  into  the  keen, 
cold  eyes  of  a  young  man  wearing  the  uniform  of  a 
lieutenant  of  the  United  States  army. 

The  dominant  characteristics  of  the  young  man's 
face,  even  then,  were  ambition  and  determination, 
and  perhaps  the  remarkable  future  was  foreshad- 
owed in  the  restless,  scheming  mind.  But  to-day 
his  deeply-set  eyes  were  glowing  with  a  light  more 
peculiar  to  youth,  and  whenever  bulging  stones  af- 
forded excuse  he  grasped  the  girl's  hand  and  held  it 


THE  WASH-TUB  MAIL.  139 

as  long  as  he  dared.  The  procession  wound  past 
the  tubs  and  crossing  the  road  climbed  up  the  hill 
to  the  little  wooded  cemetery  of  the  early  fathers, 
the  cemetery  where  so  many  of  those  bright  heads 
were  to  lie  forgotten  beneath  the  wild  oats  and 
thistles. 

"  They  go  to  the  grave  of  Benicia  Ortega  and  her 
little  one,"  said  Francesca.     "  Holy  Mary !     La  Tulita 
never  look  in  a  man's  eyes  like  that  before." 
9 "  But  she  have  in  his,"  said  Mariquita,  wisely. 

"  No  more  talk ! "  cried  Faquita,  and  once  more 
silence  came  to  her  own.  But  fate  was  stronger 
than  Faquita.  An  hour  later  a  little  girl  came  run- 
ning down,  calling  to  the  old  woman  that  her  grand- 
child, the  consolation  of  her  age,  had  been  taken  ill. 
After  she  had  hurried  away  the  women  fairly  leaped 
over  one  another  in  their  efforts  to  reach  Mariquita's 
tub. 

"  Tell  us,  tell  us,  chiquita,"  they  cried,  fearful  lest 
Faquita's  snubbing  should  have  turned  her  sulky, 
"what  dost  thou  know  ?  " 

But  Mariquita,  who  had  been  biting  her  lips  to 
keep  back  her  story,  opened  them  and  spoke 
fluently. 

"  Ay,  my  friends  !  Dona  Eustaquia  and  Benicia 
Ortega  are  not  the  only  ones  to  wed  Americans. 
Listen !  La  Tulita  is  mad  for  this  man,  who  is  no 
more  handsome  than  the  palm  of  my  hand  when  it 
has  all  day  been  in  the  water.  Yesterday  morning 
came  Don  Ramon.  I  am  in  the  back  garden  of  the 
Casa  Rivera  with  Ana,  and  La  Tulita  is  in  the  front 


140  THE  WASH-TUB  MAIL. 

garden  sitting  under  the  wall.  I  can  look  through 
the  doors  of  the  sala  and  see  and  hear  all.  Such 
a  handsome  caballero,  my  friends!  The  gold  six 
inches  deep  on  the  serape.  Silver  eagles  on  the 
sombrero.  And  the  botas  !  Stamp  with  birds  and 
leaves,  ay,  yi !  He  fling  open  the  gates  so  bold,  and 
when  he  see  La  Tulita  he  look  like  the  sun  is  behind 
his  face.  (Such  curls,  my  friends,  tied  with  a  blue 
ribbon !)  But  listen ! 

"  '  Mi  querida  ! '  he  cry,  '  Mi  alma  ! '  (Ay,  my 
heart  jump  in  my  throat  like  he  speak  to  me.)  Then 
he  fall  on  one  knee  and  try  to  kiss  her  hand.  But 
she  throw  herself  back  like  she  hate  him.  Her  eyes 
are  like  the  bay  in  winter.  And  then  she  laugh. 
When  she  do  that  he  stand  up  and  say  with  the  voice 
that  shake : 

" « What  is  the  matter,  Herminia  ?  Do  you  not  love 
me  any  longer  ? ' 

" '  I  never  love  you,'  she  say.  <  They  give  me  no 
peace  until  I  say  I  marry  you,  and  as  I  love  no  one 
else — I  do  not  care  much.  But  now  that  you  have 
insult  me  I  have  the  best  excuse  to  break  the  engage- 
ment, and  I  do  it.'  " 

"  '  I  insult  you  ? '  He  hardly  can  speak,  my  friends, 
he  is  so  surprised  and  unhappy. 

"  '  Yes ;  did  you  not  forget  the  smocks  ? ' 

"  '  The — smocks ! '  he  stammer,  like  that.  <  The 
smocks  ? ' 

"  '  No  one  can  be  blame  but  you,'  she  say.  '  And 
you  know  that  no  bride  forgive  that.  You  know  all 
that  it  means,' 


THE  WASH-TUB  MAIL.  141 

" '  Ilermiiiia  ! '  he  say.  *  Surely  you  will  not  put 
me  away  for  a  little  thing  like  that ! ' 

" c  I  have  no  more  to  say,'  she  reply,  and  then  she 
get  up  and  go  in  the  house  and  shut  the  door  so  I 
cannot  see  how  he  feel,  but  I  am  very  sorry  for  him 
if  he  did  forget  the  smocks.  Well !  That  evening 
I  help  Ana  water  the  flowers  in  the  front  garden,  and 
every  once  in  the  while  we  look  through  the  windows 
at  La  Tulita  and  the  lieutenant.  They  talk,  talk,  talk. 
He  look  so  earnest  and  she — she  look  so  beautiful. 
Not  like  a  devil,  as  when  she  talk  to  Don  Ramon  in 
the  morning,  but  like  an  angel.  Sure,  a  woman  can 
be  both !  It  depends  upon  the  man.  By  and  by 
Ana  go  away,  but  I  stay  there,  for  I  like  to  look  at 
them.  After  a  while  they  get  up  and  come  out.  It 
is  dark  in  the  garden,  the  walls  so  high,  and  the  trees 
throw  the  shadows,  so  they  cannot  see  me.  They 
walk  up  and  down,  and  by  and  by  the  lieutenant  take 
out  his  knife  and  cut  a  shoot  from,  the  rose-bush  that 
climb  up  the  house. 

" 4  These  Castilian  roses,'  he  say,  very  soft,  but  in 
very  bad  Spanish,  '  they  are  very  beautiful  and  a  part 
of  Monterey — a  part  of  you.  Look,  I  am  going  to 
plant  this  here,  and  long  before  it  grow  to  be  a  big 
bush  I  come  back  and  you  will  wear  its  buds  in  your 
hair  when  we  are  married  in  that  lovely  old  church. 
Now  help  me,'  and  then  they  kneel  down  and  he  stick 
it  in  the  ground,  and  all  their  fingers  push  the  earth 
around  it.  Then  she  give  a  little  sob  and  say,  *  You 
must  go  ? ' 

"  He  lift  her  up  and  put  his  arms  around  her  tight, 


142  THE  WASH-TUB  MAIL. 

c  I  must  go,'  he  say.  c  I  am  not  my  own  master,  you 
know,  and  the  orders  have  come.  But  my  heart  is 
here,  in  this  old  garden,  and  I  come  back  for  it.' 
And  then  she  put  her  arms  around  him  and  he  kiss 
her,  and  she  love  him  so  I  forget  to  be  sorry  for  Don 
Ramon.  After  all,  it  is  the  woman  who  should  be 
happy.  He  hold  her  a  long  time,  so  long  I  am  afraid 
Dona  Carmen  come  out  to  look  for  her.  I  lift  up  on 
my  knees  (I  am  sit  down  before)  and  look  in  the 
window  and  I  see  she  is  asleep,  and  I  am  glad. 
Well!  After  a  while  they  walk  up  and  down  again, 
and  he  tell  her  all  about  his  home  far  away,  and  about 
some  money  he  go  to  get  when  the  law  get  ready, 
and  how  he  cannot  marry  on  his  pay.  Then  he  say 
how  he  go  to  be  a  great  general  some  clay  and  how 
she  will  be  the  more  beautiful  woman  in — how  you 
call  it — Washington,  I  think  ?  And  she  cry  and  say 
she  does  not  care,  she  only  want  him.  And  he  tell 
her  water  the  rose-bush  every  day  and  think  of  him, 
and  he  will  come  back  before  it  is  large,  and  every 
time  a  bud  come  out  she  can  know  he  is  thinking  of 
her  very  hard." 

"Ay,  pobrecita  !  "  said  Francesca,  "  I  wonder  will 
he  come  back.  These  men  !  " 

"  Sure.    Are  not  all  men  mad  for  La  Tulita  ?  " 

"  Yes — yes,  but  he  go  far  away.  To  America ! 
God  of  my  soul !  And  men,  they  forget."  Fran- 
cesca heaved  a  deep  sigh.  Her  youth  was  far  behind 
her,  but  she  remembered  many  things. 

"  He  return,"  said  Mariquita,  the  young  and  ro- 
mantic, 


THE  WASH-TUB  MAIL.  143 

"When  does  he  go?" 

Mariquita  pointed  to  the  bay.  A  schooner  rode  at 
anchor.  "  He  go  to  Yerba  Buena  on  that  to-morrow 
morning.  From  there  to  the  land  of  the  American. 
Ay,  yi !  Poor  La  Tulita !  But  his  linen  is  dry.  I 
must  take  it  to  iron  for  I  have  it  promised  for  six  in 
the  morning."  And  she  hastily  gathered  the  articles 
from  the  low  bushes  and  hurried  away. 

That  evening  as  the  women  returned  to  town,  talk- 
ing gayly,  despite  the  great  baskets  on  their  arms, 
they  passed  the  hut  of  Faquita  and  paused  at  the 
window  to  inquire  for  the  child.  The  little  one  lay 
gasping  on  the  bed.  Faquita  sat  beside  her  with 
bowed  head.  An  aged  crone  brewed  herbs  over  a 
stove.  The  dingy  little  house  faced  the  hills  and  was 
dimly  lighted  by  the  fading  rays  of  the  sun  strug- 
gling through  the  dark  pine  woods. 

"  Holy  Mary,  Faquita !  "  said  Francesca,  in  a  loud 
whisper.  "  Does  Liseta  die  ?  " 

Faquita  sprang  to  her  feet.  Her  cross  old  face  was 
drawn  with  misery.  "  Go,  go !  "  she  said,  waving 
her  arms,  "  I  want  none  of  you." 

The  next  evening  she  sat  in  the  same  position,  her 
eyes  fixed  upon  the  shrinking  features  of  the  child. 
The  crone  had  gone.  She  heard  the  door  open,  and 
turned  with  a  scowl.  But  it  was  La  Tulita  that 
entered  and  came  rapidly  to  the  head  of  the  bed. 
The  girl's  eyes  were  swollen,  her  dress  and  hair  dis* 
ordered. 

"  I  have  come  to  you  because  you  are  in  trouble," 
she  said.  "  I,  too,  am  in  trouble.  Ay,  my  Faquita !  " 


144  THE  WASH-TUB  MAIL. 

The  old  woman  put  up  her  arms  and  drew  the  girl 
down  to  her  lap.  She  had  never  touched  her  idol 
before,  but  sorrow  levels  even  social  barriers. 

"  Pobrecita !  "  she  said,  and  the  girl  cried  softly 
on  her  shoulder. 

"  Will  he  come  back,  Faquita  ?" 

"  Sure,  ninita.    No  man  could  forget  you." 

"  But  it  is  so  far." 

"  Think  of  what  Don  Vicente  do  for  Doiia  Ysabel, 
mijita." 

"  But  he  is  an  American.  Oh,  no,  it  is  not  that  I 
doubt  him.  He  loves  me  !  It  is  so  far,  like  another 
world.  And  the  ocean  is  so  big  and  cruel." 

"  We  ask  the  priest  to  say  a  mass." 

"  Ah,  my  Faquita !  I  will  go  to  the  church  to-mor- 
row morning.  How  glad  I  am  that  I  came  to  thee." 
She  kissed  the  old  woman  warmly,  and  for  the  mo- 
ment Faquita  forgot  her  trouble. 

But  the  child  threw  out  its  arms  and  moaned.  La 
Tulita  pushed  the  hair  out  of  her  eyes  and  brought 
the  medicine  from  the  stove,  where  it  simmered  un- 
savorily. The  child  swallowed  it  mechanically,  and 
Faquita  shook  her  head  in  despair.  At  the  dawn  it 
died.  As  La  Tulita  laid  her  white  fingers  on  the 
gaping  eyelids,  Faquita  rose  to  her  feet.  Her  ugly 
old  face  was  transfigured.  Even  the  grief  had  gone 
out  of  it.  For  a  moment  she  was  no  longer  a  woman, 
but  one  of  the  most  subtle  creations  of  the  Catholic 
religion  conjoined  with  racial  superstitions. 

"  As  the  moon  dieth  and  cometh  to  life  again,"  she 
repeated  with  a  sort  of  chanting  cadence,  "  so  man, 


THE  WASH-TUB  MAIL.  145 

though  he  die,  will  live  again.  Is  it  not  well  that 
she  will  wander  forever  through  forests  where  crys- 
tal streams  roll  over  golden  sands,  than  grow  into 
wickedness,  and  go  out  into  the  dark  unrepenting^ 
perhaps,  to  be  bitten  by  serpents  and  scorched  by 
lightning  and  plunged  down  cataracts  ?  "  She  turned 
to  La  Tulita.  "  Will  you  stay  here,  senorita,  while 
I  go  to  bid  them  make  merry  ?  " 

The  girl  nodded  and  the  woman  went  out.  La 
Tulita  watched  the  proud  head  and  erect  carriage  for 
a  moment,  then  bound  up  the  fallen  jaw  of  the  little 
corpse,  crossed  its  hands  and  placed  weights  on  the 
eyelids.  She  pushed  the  few  pieces  of  furniture 
against  the  wall,  striving  to  forget  the  one  trouble 
that  had  come  into  her  triumphant  young  life.  But 
there  was  little  to  do,  and  after  a  time  she  knelt  by 
the  window  and  looked  up  at  the  dark  forest  upon 
which  long  shafts  of  light  were  striking,  routing  the 
fog  that  crouched  in  the  hollows.  The  town  was  as 
quiet  as  a  necropolis.  The  white  houses,  under  the 
black  shadows  of  the  hills,  lay  like  tombs.  Suddenly 
the  roar  of  the  surf  came  to  her  ears,  and  she  threw 
out  her  arms  with  a  cry,  dropping  her  head  upon 
them  and  sobbing  convulsively.  She  heard  the  pon- 
derous waves  of  the  Pacific  lashing  the  keel  of  a  ship. 

She  was  aroused  by  shouting  and  sounds  of  merri- 
ment. She  raised  her  head  dully,  but  remembered 
in  a  moment  what  Faquita  had  left  her  to  await. 
The  dawn  lay  rosily  on  the  town.  The  shimmering 
light  in  the  pine  woods  was  crossed  and  recrossed  by 
the  glare  of  rockets.  Down  the  street  came  the  sound 
10 


146  THE  WASH-TUB  MAIL. 

of  singing  voices,  the  words  of  the  song  heralding 
the  flight  of  a  child-spirit  to  a  better  world.  La 
Tulita  slipped  out  of  the  back  door  and  went  to  her 
home  without  meeting  the  procession.  But  before 
she  shut  herself  in  her  room  she  awakened  Ana,  and 
giving  her  a  purse  of  gold,  bade  her  buy  a  little  coffin 
draped  with  white  and  garlanded  with  white  flowers. 


PART  III. 

"  TELL  us,  tell  us,  Mariquita,  does  she  water  the 
rose-tree  every  night  ?  " 

"  Every  night,  ay,  yi ! " 

"  And  is  it  big  yet  ?  Ay,  but  that  wall  is  high ! 
Not  a  twig  can  I  see!  " 

"  Yes,  it  grows ! " 

"  And  he  comes  not  ?  " 

"He  write.    I  see  the  letters." 

"But  what  does  he  say?" 

"  How  can  I  know  ?  " 

"  And  she  goes  to  the  balls  and  meriendas  no  more. 
Sure,  they  will  forget  her.  It  is  more  than  a  year 
now.  Some  one  else  will  be  lia  Favorita." 

"  She  does  not  care." 

"  Hush  the  voices,"  cried  Faquita,  scrubbing  dili- 
gently. "  It  is  well  that  she  stay  at  home  and  does 
not  dance  away  her  beauty  before  he  come.  She  is 
like  a  lily." 


THE  WASH-TUB  MAIL.  147 

"But  lilies  turn  brown,  old  Faquita,  when  the 
wind  blow  on  them  too  long.  Dost  thou  think  he 
will  return?" 

"  Sure,"  said  Faquita,  stoutly.  "  Could  any  one 
forget  that  angel  ?  " 

"  Ay,  these  men,  these  men ! "  said  Francesca  with 
a  sigh. 

"  Oh,  thou  old  raven ! "  cried  Mariquita.  "  But  sure 
— sure — she  has  had  no  letter  for  three  months." 

"Aha,  senorita,  thou  didst  not  tell  us  that  just 
now." 

"Nor  did  I  intend  to.  The  word  just  fell  from 
my  teeth." 

"  He  is  sick,"  cried  Faquita  angrily.  "  Ay,  my 
pobrecita !  Sometimes  I  think  Ysabel  is  more 
happy  under  the  rocks." 

"  How  dost  thou  know  he  is  sick  ?  Will  be  die  ?  " 
The  wash-tub  mail  had  made  too  few  mistakes  in  its 
history  to  admit  of  doubt  being  cast  upon  the  proud 
assertion  of  one  of  its  officials. 

"  I  hear  Captain  Brotherton  read  from  a  letter  to 
Dona  Eustaquia.  Ay,  they  are  happy !  " 

"When?" 

"  Two  hours  ago." 

"  Then  we  know  before  the  town — like  always." 

"  Sure.    Do  we  not  know  all  things  first  ?    Hist !  " 

The  women  dropped  their  heads  and  fumbled  at 
the  linen  in  the  water.  La  Tulita  was  approaching. 

She  came  across  the  meadow  with  all  her  old 
swinging  grace,  the  blue  gown  waving  about  her 
like  leaves  of  a  California  lily  when  the  wind  rustled 


148  THE  WASH-TUB  MAIL. 

the  forest.  But  the  rebosa  framed  a  face  thin  and 
pale,  and  the  sparkle  was  gone  from  her  eyes.  She 
passed  the  tubs  and  greeted  the  old  women  pleas- 
antly, walked  a  few  steps  up  the  hill,  then  turned 
as  if  in  obedience  to  an  afterthought,  and  sat  down 
on  a  stone  in  the  shade  of  a  willow. 

"  It  is  cool  here,"  she  said. 

"Yes,  senorita."  They  were  not  deceived,  but 
they  dared  not  stare  at  her,  with  Faquita's  scowl 
upon  them. 

"  What  news  has  the  wash-tub  mail  to-day  ? " 
asked  the  girl  with  an  attempt  at  lightness.  "  Did 
an  enemy  invade  the  South  this  morning,  and  have 
you  heard  it  already,  as  when  General  Kearney 
came  ?  Is  General  Castro  still  in  Baja  California  or 
has  he  fled  to  Mexico  ?  Has  Doiia  Prudencia  Iturbi  y 
Moncada  given  a  ball  this  week  at  Santa  Barbara  ? 
Have  Don  Diego  and  Dona  Chonita ?  " 

"  The  young  lieutenant  is  sick,"  blurted  out  one  of 
the  old  women,  then  cowered  until  she  almost  fell 
into  her  tub.  Faquita  sprang  forward  and  caught 
the  girl  in  her  arms. 

"  Thou  old  fool !  "  she  cried  furiously.  "  Thou 
devil !  May  thou  find  a  tarantula  in  thy  bed  to- 
night. May  thou  dream  thou  art  roasting  in  hell." 
•She  carried  La  Tulita  rapidly  across  the  meadow. 

"  Ah,  I  thought  I  should  hear  there,"  said  the  girl 
with  a  laugh.  "  Thank  heaven  for  the  wash-tub 
mail." 

Faquita  nursed  her  through  a  long  illness.  She 
recovered  both  health  and  reason,  and  one  day  the 


THE  WASH-TUB  MAIL.  149 

old  woman  brought  her  word  that  the  young  lieu- 
tenant was  well  again — and  that  his  illness  had  been 
brief  and  slight. 


L'ENVOI. 

"  Ay,  but  the  years  go  quick !  "  said  Mariquita,  as 
she  flapped  a  piece  of  linen  after  taking  it  from  the 
water.  "I  wonder  do  all  towns  sleep  like  this. 
Who  can  believe  that  once  it  is  so  gay  ?  The  balls ! 
The  grand  caballeros !  The  serenades  !  The  meri- 
endas !  No  more  !  No  more  !  Almost  I  forget  the 
excitement  when  the  Americans  coming.  I  no  am 
young  any  more.  Ay,  yi !  " 

"Poor  Faquita,  she  just  die  of  old  age,"  said  a 
woman  who  had  been  young  with  Mariquita,  spread- 
ing an  article  of  underwear  on  a  bush.  "  Her  life 
just  drop  out  like  her  teeth.  No  one  of  the  old 
women  that  taught  us  to  wash  is  here  now,  Ma- 
riquita. We  are  the  old  ones  now,  and  we  teach  the 
young,  ay,  yi !  " 

"  Well,  it  is  a  comfort  that  the  great  grow  old  like 
the  low  people.  High  birth  can  not  keep  the  skin 
white  and  the  body  slim.  Ay,  look!  Who  can 
think  she  is  so  beautiful  before  ?  " 

A  woman  was  coming  down  the  road  from  the 
town.  A  woman  whom  passing  years  had  browned, 
although  leaving  the  fine,  strong  features  un- 
coarsened.  She  was  dressed  simply  in  black,  and 


150  THE  WASH-TUB  MAIL. 

wore  a  small  American  bonnet.  The  figure  had  not 
lost  the  slimness  of  its  youth,  but  the  walk  was  stiff 
and  precise.  The  carriage  evinced  a  determined 
will. 

"  Ay,  who  can  think  that  once  she  sway  like  the 
tule  ! "  said  Mariquita,  with  a  sigh.  "  Well,  when 
she  come  to-day  I  have  some  news.  A  letter,  we 
used  to  call  it,  dost  thou  remember,  Brigida  ?  Who 
care  for  the  wash-tub  mail  now  ?  These  Americans 
never  hear  of  it,  and  our  people — triste  de  mi — have 
no  more  the  interest  in  anything." 

"  Tell  us  thy  news,"  cried  many  voices.  The  older 
women  had  never  lost  their  interest  in  La  Tulita. 
The  younger  ones  had  heard  her  story  many  times, 
and  rarely  passed  the  wall  before  her  house  without 
looking  at  the  tall  rose-bush  which  towered  like  a 
young  tree. 

"  No,  you  can  hear  when  she  come.  She  will  come 
to-day.  Six  months  ago  to-day  she  come.  Ay,  yi, 
to  think  she  come  once  in  six  months  all  these  years  ! 
And  never  until  to-day  has  the  wash-tub  mail  a  let- 
ter for  her." 

"  Very  strange  she  did  not  forget  a  Gringo  and 
marry  with  a  caballero,"  said  one  of  the  girls,  scorn- 
fully. "  They  say  the  caballeros  were  so  beautiful, 
so  magnificent.  The  Americans  have  all  the  money 
now,  but  she  been  rich  for  a  little  while." 

"All  women  are  not  alike.  Sometimes  I  think 
she  is  more  happy  with  the  memory."  And  Mari- 
quita, who  had  a  fat,  lazy  husband  and  a  swarm  of 
brown  children,  sighed  heavily.  "  She  live  happy 


THE  WASH-TUB  MAIL.  151 

in  the  old  house  and  is  not  so  poor.  And  always 
she  have  the  rose-bush.  She  smile  now,  sometimes, 
when  she  water  it." 

"Well,  it  is  many  years,"  said  the  girl,  philo- 
sophically. "  Here  she  come." 

La  Tulita,  or  Doila  Herminia,  as  she  was  now 
called,  walked  briskly  across  the  meadow  and  sat 
down  on  the  stone  which  had  come  to  be  called  for 
her.  She  spoke  to  each  in  turn  but  did  not  ask  for 
news.  She  had  ceased  long  since  to  do  that.  She 
still  came  because  the  habit  held  her,  and  because 
she  liked  the  women. 

"  Ah,  Mariquita,"  she  said,  "  the  linen  is  not  as 
fine  as  when  we  were  young.  And  thou  art  glad  to 
get  the  shirts  of  the  Americans  now.  Poor  my 
Faquita!" 

"  Coarse  things,"  said  Mariquita,  disdainfully. 
Then  a  silence  fell,  so  sudden  and  so  suggestive  that 
Doiia  Herminia  felt  it  and  turned  instinctively  to 
Mariquita. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  she  asked  rapidly.  "  Is  there  news 
to-day?  Of  what?" 

Mariquita's  honest  face  was  grave  and  important. 

"  There  is  news,  seiiorita,"  she  said. 

"What  is  it?" 

The  washing- women  had  dropped  back  from  the 
tubs  and  were  listening  intently. 

"  Ay  !  "  The  oracle  drew  a  long  breath.  "  There 
is  war  over  there,  you  know,  seiiorita,"  she  said, 
making  a  vague  gesture  toward  the  Atlantic  States. 

"  Yes,  I  know.    Is  it  decided  ?    Is  the  North  or 


152  THE  WASH-TUB  MAIL. 

the  South  victorious  ?  I  am  glad  that  the  wash-tub 
mail  has  not " 

"  It  is  not  that,  senorita." 

"  Then  what  ?  " 

"  The  lieutenant — he  is  a  great  general  now." 

"Ay!" 

"  He  has  won  a  great  battle 

"  And — they  speak  of  his  wife,  senorita." 

Dona  Herminia  closed  her  eyes  for  a  moment. 
Then  opened  them  and  glanced  slowly  about  her. 
The  blue  bay,  the  solemn  pines,  the  golden  atmos- 
phere, the  cemetery  on  the  hill,  the  women  washing 
at  the  stone  tubs — all  was  unchanged.  Only  the 
flimsy  wooden  houses  of  the  Americans  scattered 
among  the  adobes  of  the  town  and  the  aging  faces 
of  the  women  who  had  been  young  in  her  brief  girl- 
hood, marked  the  lapse  of  years.  There  was  a  smile 
on  her  lips.  Her  monotonous  life  could  only  have 
given  her  insanity  or  infinite  peace,  and  peace  had 
been  her  portion.  In  a  few  minutes  she  said  good- 
bye to  the  women  and  went  home.  She  never  went 
to  the  tubs  again. 


THE  CONQUEST  OF  DONA  JACOBA. 


i. 

A  FOREST  of  willows  cut  by  a  forking  creek,  and 
held  apart  here  and  there  by  fields  of  yellow  mus- 
tard blossoms  fluttering  in  their  pale-green  nests,  or 
meadows  carpeted  with  the  tiny  white  and  yellow 
flowers  of  early  summer.  Wide  patches  of  blue 
where  the  willows  ended,  and  immense  banks  of 
daisies  bordering  fields  of  golden  grain,  bending  and 
shimmering  in  the  wind  with  the  long,  even  sweep 
of  rising  tide.  Then  the  lake,  long,  irregular,  half 
choked  with  tules,  closed  by  a  marsh.  The  valley 
framed  by  mountains  of  purplish  gray,  dull  brown 
with  patches  of  vivid  green  and  yellow ;  a  solitary 
gray  peak  barren  and  rocky,  in  sharp  contrast  to 
the  rich  Californian  hills ;  on  one  side  fawn-colored 
slopes,  and  slopes  with  groves  of  crouching  oaks  in 
their  hollows ;  opposite  and  beyond  the  cold  peak,  a 
golden  hill  rising  to  a  mount  of  earthy  green ;  still 
lower,  another  peak,  red  and  green,  mulberry  and 
mould  ;  between  and  afar,  closing  the  valley,  a  line 
of  pink-brown  mountains  splashed  with  blue. 

153 


154          THE  CONQUEST  OF  DONA  JACOBA. 

Such  was  a  fragment  of  Don  Roberto  Duncan's 
vast  rancho  of  Los  Quervos,  and  on  a  plateau 
above  the  willows  stood  the  adobe  house,  white  and 
red- tiled,  shaped  like  a  solid  letter  H.  On  the  deep 
veranda,  sunken  between  the  short  forearms  of  the 
II,  Doiia  Jacoba  could  stand  and  issue  commands  in 
her  harsh,  imperious  voice  to  the  Indians  in  the 
rancheria  among  the  willows,  whilst  the  long  sala  be- 
hind overflowed  with  the  gay  company  her  famous 
hospitality  had  summoned,  the  bare  floor  and  ugly 
velvet  furniture  swept  out  of  thought  by  beautiful 
faces  and  flowered  silken  gowns. 

Behind  the  sala  was  an  open  court,  the  grass  grow- 
ing close  to  the  great  stone  fountain.  On  either  side 
was  a  long  line  of  rooms,  and  above  the  sala  was  a 
library  opening  into  the  sleeping-room  of  Dona 
Jacoba  on  one  side,  and  into  that  of  Elena,  her 
youngest  and  loveliest  daughter,  on  the  other.  Be- 
hind the  house  were  a  dozen  or  more  buildings  ;  the 
kitchen; — a  room  in  which  steers  and  bullocks,  sheep 
and  pigs,  were  hanging ;  a  store-house  containing 
provisions  enough  for  a  hotel ;  and  the  manufactories 
of  the  Indians.  Somewhat  apart  was  a  large  build- 
ing with  a  billiard-room  in  its  upper  story  and 
sleeping-rooms  below.  From  her  window  Elena 
could  look  down  upon  the  high- walled  corral  with 
its  prancing  horses  always  in  readiness  for  the 
pleasure-loving  guests,  and  upon  the  broad  road 
curving  through  the  willows  and  down  the  valley. 

The  great  house  almosts  hook  with  life  on  this 
brilliant  day  of  the  mouth  of  June,  1852.  Don 


THE  CONQUEST  OF  DONA  JACOB  A.         155 

Roberto  Duncan,  into  whose  shrewd  Scottish  hands 
California  had  poured  her  wealth  for  forty  years, 
had  long  ago  taken  to  himself  a  wife  of  Castilian 
blood ;  to-morrow  their  eldest  remaining  daughter 
was  to  be  married  to  a  young  Englishman,  whose 
father  had  been  a  merchant  in  California  when  San 
Francisco  was  Yerba  Buena.  Not  a  room  was 
vacant  in  the  house.  Young  people  had  come  from 
Monterey  and  San  Francisco,  Santa  Barbara  and  Los 
Angeles.  Beds  had  been  put  up  in  the  library  and 
billiard-room,  in  the  store-rooms  and  attics.  The 
corral  was  full  of  strange  horses,  and  the  huts  in  the 
willows  had  their  humbler  guests. 

Francisca  sat  in  her  room  surrounded  by  a  dozen 
chattering  girls.  The  floor  beneath  the  feet  of-  the 
Californian  heiress  was  bare,  and  the  heavy  furni- 
ture was  of  uncarved  mahogany.  But  a  satin  quilt 
covered  the  bed,  lavish  Spanish  needlework  draped 
chest  and  tables,  and  through  the  open  window  came 
the  June  sunshine  and  the  sound  of  the  splashing  of 
the  fountain. 

Francisca  was  putting  the  last  stitches  in  her 
wedding-gown,  and  the  girls  were  helping,  advising, 
and  commenting. 

"Art  thou  not  frightened,  Panchita,"  demanded 
one  of  the  girls,  "  to  go  away  and  live  with  a  strange 
man?  Just  think,  thou  hast  seen  him  but  ten 
times." 

"  What  of  that  ?  "  asked  Francisca  serenely,  hold- 
ing the  rich  corded  silk  at  arm's-length,  and  half  clos- 
ing her  eyes  as  she  readjusted  the  deep  flounce  of 


156         THE  CONQUEST  OF  DONA  JACOBA. 

Spanish  lace.  "  Remember,  we  will  ride  and  dance 
and  play  games  together  for  a  week  with  all  of  you, 
dear  friends,  before  I  go  away  with  him.  I  shall 
know  him  quite  well  by  that  time.  And  did  not  my 
father  know  him  when  he  was  a  little  boy  ?  Surely 
he  cannot  be  a  cruel  man,  or  my  father  would  not 
have  chosen  him  for  my  husband." 

"  I  like  the  Americans  and  the  Germans  and  the 
Russians,"  said  the  girl  who  had  spoken,  "  particu- 
larly the  Americans.  But  these  English  are  so  stern, 
so  harsh  sometimes." 

"  What  of  that  ?  "  asked  Francisca  again.  "  Am 
I  not  used  to  my  father  ?  " 

She  was  a  singular-looking  girl,  this  compound 
of  Scottish  and  Spanish.  Her  face  was  cast  in 
her  father's  hard  mould,  and  her  frame  was  large 
and  sturdy,  but  she  had  the  black  luxuriant  hair  of 
Spain,  and  much  grace  of  gesture  and  expression. 

"  I  would  not  marry  an  Englishman,"  said  a  soft 
voice. 

Francisca  raised  her  eyebrows  and  glanced  coldly 
at  the  speaker,  a  girl  of  perfect  loveliness,  who  sat 
behind  a  table,  her  chin  resting  on  her  clasped  hands. 

"  Thou  wouldst  marry  whom  our  father  told  thee 
to  marry,  Elena,"  said  her  sister  severely.  "What 
hast  thou  to  say  about  it  ?  " 

"  I  will  marry  a  Spaniard,"  said  Elena  rebelliously. 
"  A  Spaniard,  and  no  other." 

"  Thou  wilt  do  what  ?  "  asked  a  cold  voice  from 
the  door.  The  girls  gave  a  little  scream.  Elena 
turned  pale,  even  Francisca's  hands  twitched. 


THE  CONQUEST  OF  DONA  JACOBA.         157 

Dona  Jacoba  was  an  impressive  figure  as  she 
stood  in  the  doorway.  A  tall,  unbowed  woman  with 
a  large  face  and  powerful,  penetrating  eyes.  A  thin 
mouth  covering  white  teeth  separated  the  promi- 
nent nose  and  square  chin.  A  braid  of  thick  black 
hair  lay  over  her  fine  bust,  and  a  black  silk  hand- 
kerchief made  a  turban  for  her  lofty  head.  She 
wore  a  skirt  of  heavy  black  silk  and  a  shawl  of 
Chinese  crepe  one  end  thrown  gracefully  over  her 
shoulder. 

"  What  didst  thou  say  ?  "  she  demanded  again,  a 
sneer  on  her  lips. 

Elena  made  no  answer.  She  stared  through  the 
window  at  the  servants  laying  the  table  in  the  din- 
ing-room on  the  other  side  of  the  court,  her  breath 
shortening  as  if  the  room  had  been  exhausted  of 
air. 

"  Let  me  hear  no  more  of  that  nonsense,"  continued 
her  mother.  "  A  strange  remark  truly  to  come  from 
the  lips  of  a  Californian  !  Thy  father  has  said  that 
his  daughters  shall  marry  men  of  his  race — men 
who  belong  to  that  island  of  the  North ;  and  I  have 
agreed,  and  thy  sisters  are  well  married.  No  women 
are  more  virtuous,  more  industrious,  more  religious, 
than  ours  ;  but  our  men — our  young  men — are  a  set 
of  drinking,  gambling  vagabonds.  Go  to  thy  room 
and  pray  there  until  supper." 

Elena  ran  out  of  an  opposite  door,  and  Dona  Jacoba 
sat  down  on  a  high-backed  chair  and  held  out  her 
hand  for  the  wedding-gown.  She  examined  it  atten- 
tively, and  gave  a  faint  smile  of  approval. 


158          THE  CONQUEST  OF  DONA  JACOBA. 

"  The  lace  is  beautiful,"  she  said.  "  There  is  no 
richer  in  California,  and  I  have  seen  Dona  Trinidad 
Iturbi  y  Moncada's,  and  Dona  Modeste  Castro's. 
Let  me  see  thy  mantilla  once  more." 

Francisca  opened  a  chest  nearly  as  large  as  her 
bed,  and  shook  out  a  long  square  of  superb  Spanish 
lace.  It  had  arrived  from  the  city  of  Mexico  but  a 
few  days  before.  The  girls  clapped  their  admiring 
hands,  as  if  they  had  not  looked  at  it  twenty  times, 
and  Dona  Jacoba  smoothed  it  tenderly  with  her 
strong  hands.  Then  she  went  over  to  the  chest  and 
lifted  the  beautiful  silk  and  crepe  gowns,  one  by 
one,  her  sharp  eyes  detecting  no  flaw.  She  opened 
another  chest  and  examined  the  piles  of  under- 
clothing and  bed  linen,  all  of  finest  woof,  and  deeply 
bordered  with  the  drawn  work  of  Spain. 

"  All  is  well,"  she  said,  returning  to  her  chair. 
"  I  see  nothing  more  to  be  done.  Thy  brother  will 
bring  the  emeralds,  and  the  English  plate  will  come 
before  the  week  is  over." 

"  Is  it  sure  that  Santiago  will  come  in  time  for 
the  wedding?"  asked  a  half-English  granddaughter, 
whose  voice  broke  suddenly  at  her  own  temerity. 

But  Doiia  Jacoba  was  in  a  gracious  mood. 

"  Surely.  Has  not  Don  Roberto  gone  to  meet 
him  ?  He  will  be  here  at  four  to-day." 

"  How  glad  I  shall  be  to  see  him !  "  said  Francisca. 
"Just  think,  my  friends,  I  have  not  seen  him  for 
seven  years.  Not  since  he  was  eleven  years  old. 
He  has  been  on  that  cold  dreadful  island  in  the 
North  all  this  time.  I  wonder  has  he  changed ! " 


THE  CONQUEST  OF  DONA  JACOBA.         159 

"Why  should  he  change?"  asked  Doiia  Jacoba. 
"  Is  he  not  a  Cortez  and  a  Duncan?  Is  he  not  a 
Calif ornian  and  a  Catholic  ?  Can  a  few  years  in  an 
English  school  make  him  of  another  race?  He  is 
seven  years  older,  that  is  all." 

"  True,"  assented  Francisca,  threading  her  needle ; 
"  Of  course  he  could  not  change." 

Dona  Jacoba  opened  a  large  fan  and  wielded  it 
with  slow  curves  of  her  strong  wrist.  She  had 
never  been  cold  in  her  life,  and  even  a  June  day 
oppressed  her. 

"  We  have  another  guest,"  she  said  in  a  moment — 
"  a  young  man,  Don  Dario  Castaiiares  of  Los  Robles 
Rancho.  He  comes  to  buy  cattle  of  my  husband, 
and  must  remain  with  us  until  the  bargain  is  over." 

Several  of  the  girls  raised  their  large  black  eyes 
with  interest.  "  Don  Dario  Castanares,"  said  one ; 
"  I  have  heard  of  him.  He  is  very  rich  and  very 
handsome,  they  say." 

"Yes,"  said  Dona  Jacoba,  indifferently.  "He  is 
not  ugly,  but  much  too  dark.  His  mother  was  an 
Indian.  He  is  no  husband,  with  all  his  leagues,  for 
any  Californian  of  pure  Castilian  blood." 


II. 

ELENA  had  gone  up  to  her  room,  and  would  have 
locked  the  door  had  she  possessed  a  key.  As  it  was, 
she  indulged  in  a  burst  of  tears  at  the  prospect  of 
marrying  an  Englishman,  then  consoled  herself  with 


160          THE  CONQUEST  OF  DONA  JACOKA. 

the  thought  that  her  best-beloved  brother  would  be 
with  her  in  a  few  hours. 

She  bathed  her  face  and  wound  the  long  black 
coils  about  her  shapely  head.  The  flush  faded  out 
of  her  white  cheeks,  and  her  eyelids  were  less  heavy. 
But  the  sadness  did  not  leave  her  eyes  nor  the 
delicate  curves  of  her  mouth.  She  had  the  face  of 
the  Madonna,  stamped  with  the  heritage  of  suffer- 
ing; a  nature  so  keenly  capable  of  joy  and  pain  that 
she  drew  both  like  a  magnet,  and  would  so  long  as 
life  stayed  in  her. 

She  curled  herself  up  in  the  window-seat,  looking 
down  the  road  for  the  gray  cloud  of  dust  that  would 
herald  her  brother.  But  only  black  crowds  of  crows 
mounted  screaming  from  the  willows,  to  dive  and 
rise  again.  Suddenly  she  became  conscious  that  she 
was  watched,  and  her  gaze  swept  downward  to  the 
corral.  A  stranger  stood  by  the  gates  giving  orders 
to  a  vaquero,  but  looking  hard  at  her  from  beneath 
his  low-dropped  sombrero. 

He  was  tall,  this  stranger,  and  very  slight.  His 
face  was  nearly  as  dark  as  an  Indian's,  but  set  with 
features  so  perfect  that  no  one  but  Dona  Jacoba  had 
ever  found  fault  with  his  skin.  Below  his  dreaming, 
ardent  eyes  was  a  straight,  delicate  nose ;  the  sensu- 
ous mouth  was  half  parted  over  glistening  teeth, 
and  but  lightly  shaded  by  a  silken  mustache. 
About  his  graceful  figure  hung  a  dark-red  serape 
embroidered  and  fringed  with  gold,  and  his  red 
velvet  trousers  were  laced  and  his  yellow  riding- 
boots  gartered  with  silver. 


THE  CONQUEST  OF  DONA  JACOB  A.         161 

Elena  rose  quickly  and  pulled  the  curtain  across 
the  window ;  the  blood  had  flown  to  her  hair,  and  a 
smile  chased  the  sadness  from  her  mouth.  Then 
she  raised  her  hands  and  pressed  the  palms  against 
the  slope  of  the  ceiling,  her  dark,  upturned  eyes 
full  of  terror.  For  many  moments  she  stood  so, 
hardly  conscious  of  what  she  was  doing,  seeing  only 
the  implacable  eyes  of  her  mother.  Then  down  the 
road  came  the  loud,  regular  hoof-falls  of  galloping 
horses,  and  with  an  eager  cry  she  flung  aside  the 
curtain,  forgetting  the  stranger. 

Down  the  road,  half  hidden  by  the  willows,  came 
two  men.  When  they  reached  the  rancheria  Elena 
saw  the  faces.  A  sandy-haired,  hard-faced  old 
Scotsman,  with  cold  blue  eyes  beneath  shaggy  red 
brows,  and  a  dark,  slim  lad,  every  inch  a  Califor- 
nian.  Elena  waved  her  handkerchief  and  the  lad  his 
hat.  Then  the  girl  rushed  down  the  stairs  and  over 
to  the  willows.  Santiago  sprang  from  his  horse, 
and  the  brother  and  sister  clung  together  kissing  and 
crying,  hugging  each  other  until  her  hair  fell  down 
and  his  hat  was  in  the  dust. 

"  Thou  hast  come ! "  cried  Elena  at  last,  holding 
him  at  arm's-length  that  she  might  see  him  better, 
then  clinging  to  him  again  with  all  her  strength. 
"  Thou  wilt  never  leave  me  again — promise  me ! 
Promise  me,  my  Santiago!  Ay,  I  have  been  so 
lonely." 

"  Never,  my  little  one.    Have  I  not  longed  to  come 
home  that  I  might  be  with  thee  ?    O  my  Elena !  I 
know  so  much.    I  will  teach  thee  everything." 
11 


162          THE  CONQUEST  OF  DONA  JACOB  A. 

"  Ay,  I  am  proud  of  thee,  my  Santiago !  Thou 
knowest  more  than  any  boy  in  California— I 
know." 

"  Perhaps  that  would  not  be  much,"  with  fine 
scorn.  "  But  come,  Elena  mia,  I  must  go  to  my 
mother ;  she  is  waiting.  She  looks  as  stern  as  ever ; 
but  how  I  have  longed  to  see  her  !  " 

They  ran  to  the  house,  passing  the  stranger,  who 
had  watched  them  with  folded  arms  and  scowling 
brows.  Santiago  rushed  impetuously  at  his  mother ; 
but  she  put  out  her  arm,  stiff  and  straight,  and  held 
him  back.  Then  she  laid  her  hand,  with  its  vice- 
like  grip,  on  his  shoulder,  and  led  him  down  the 
sala  to  the  chapel  at  the  end.  It  was  arranged  for 
the  wedding  with  all  the  pomp  of  velvet  altar-cloth 
and  golden  candelabra.  He  looked  at  it  wonder- 
ingly.  Why  had  she  brought  him  to  look  upon  this 
before  giving  him  a  mother's  greeting  ? 

"  Kneel  down,"  she  said,  "  and  repeat  the  prayers 
of  thy  Church — prayers  of  gratitude  for  thy  safe 
return." 

The  boy  folded  his  hands  deprecatingly. 

"  But,  mother,  remember  it  is  seven  long  years 
since  I  have  said  the  Catholic  prayers.  Remember 
I  have  been  educated  in  an  English  college,  in  a 
Protestant  country." 

Her  tall  form  curved  slowly  toward  him,  the 
blood  blazed  in  her  dark  cheeks. 

. "  What !  "  she  screamed,  incredulously.  "  Thou 
hast  forgotten  the  prayers  of  thy  Church — the  pray- 
ers thou  learnedst  at  my  knee  ?  " 


THE  CONQU&ST  OF  DONA  JACOB  A.         163 

"  Yes,  mother,  I  have,"  he  said  desperately.  "  I 
cannot " 

"  God ! "  she  cried.  "  God !  Mother  of  God !  My 
son  says  this  to  me  !  "  She  caught  him  by  the 
shoulder  again  and  almost  hurled  him  from  the 
room.  Then  she  locked  her  hand  about  his  arm 
and  dragged  him  down  the  sala  to  his  father's 
room.  She  took  a  greenhide  reata  from  the  table 
and  brought  it  down  upon  his  back  with  long  sweeps 
of  her  powerful  arm,  but  not  another  word  came 
from  her  rigid  lips.  The  boy  quivered  with  the 
shame  and  pain,  but  made  no  resistance — for  he 
was  a  Californian,  and  she  was  his  mother. 


m. 


,  the  eldest  son,  who  had  been  hunting 
bear  with  a  number  of  his  guests,  returned  shortly 
after  his  brother's  arrival,  and  was  met  at  the  door 
by  his  mother. 

"  Where  is  Santiago  ?  "  he  asked.  "  I  hear  he  has 
come." 

"  Santiago  has  been  sent  to  bed,  where  he  will 
remain  for  the  present.  We  have  an  unexpected 
guest,  Joaquin.  He  leans  there  against  the  tree  — 
Don  Dario  Castanares.  Thou  knowest  who  he  is. 
He  comes  to  buy  cattle  of  thy  father  and  will  remain 
some  days.  Thou  must  share  thy  room  with  him, 


164          THE  CONQUEST  OF  DONA  JACOB  A. 

for  there  is  no  other  place — even  on  the  billiard- 
table." 

Joaquin  liked  the  privacy  of  his  room,  but  he  had 
all  the  hospitality  of  his  race.  He  went  at  once  to 
the  stranger,  walking  a  little  heavily,  for  he  was  no 
longer  young  and  slender,  but  with  a  cordial  smile 
on  his  shrewd,  warmly  colored  face. 

"  The  house  is  at  your  service,  Don  Dario,"  he 
said,  shaking  the  new-comer's  hand.  "  We  are  hon- 
ored that  you  come  in  time  for  my  sister's  wedding. 
It  distresses  me  that  I  cannot  offer  you  the  best 
room  in  the  house,  but,  Dios  !  we  have  a  company 
here.  I  have  only  the  half  of  my  poor  bed  to  offer 
you,  but  if  you  will  deign  to  accept  that " 

"  I  am  miserable,  wretched,  to  put  you  to  such 
trouble " 

"  Never  think  of  such  a  thing,  my  friend.  Noth- 
ing could  give  me  greater  happiness  than  to  try  to 
make  you  comfortable  in  my  poor  room.  Will  you 
come  now  and  take  a  siesta  before  supper  ?  " 

Dario  followed  him  to  the  house,  protesting  at 
every  step,  and  Joaquin  threw  open  the  door  of  one 
of  the  porch  rooms. 

"  At  your  service,  senor — everything  at  your 
service." 

He  went  to  one  corner  of  the  room  and  kicked 
aside  a  pile  of  saddles,  displaying  a  small  hillock  of 
gold  in  ten  and  fifty-dollar  slugs.  "  You  will  find 
about  thirty  thousand  dollars  there.  We  sold  some 
cattle  a  few  days  ago.  I  beg  that  you  will  help 
yourself.  It  is  all  at  your  service.  I  will  now  go 


THE  CONQUEST  OF  DONA  JACOB  A.          165 

and  send  you  some  aguardiente,  for  you  must  be 
thirsty."  And  he  went  out  and  left  his  guest  alone. 

Dario  threw  himself  face  downward  on  the  bed. 
He  was  in  love,  and  the  lady  had  kissed  another 
man  as  if  she  had  no  love  to  spare.  True,  it  was 
but  her  brother  she  had  kissed,  but  would  she  have 
eyes  for  any  one  else  during  a  stranger's  brief  visit  ? 
And  how,  in  this  crowded  house,  could  he  speak  a 
word  with  her  alone  ?  And  that  terrible  dragon  of 
a  mother !  He  sprang  to  his  feet  as  an  Indian  serv- 
ant entered  with  a  glass  of  aguardiente.  When  he 
had  burnt  his  throat  he  felt  better.  "  I  will  stay 
until  I  have  won  her,  if  I  remain  a  month,"  he 
vowed.  "  It  will  be  some  time  before  Don  Roberto 
will  care  to  talk  business." 

But  Don  Roberto  was  never  too  preoccupied  to  talk 
business.  After  he  had  taken  his  bath  and  siesta, 
he  sent  a  servant  to  request  Don  Dario  Castanares 
to  come  up  to  the  library  where  he  spent  most  of 
his  time,  received  all  his  visitors,  reprimanded  his 
children,  and  took  his  after-dinner  naps.  It  was  a 
luxurious  room  for  the  Californian  of  that  day.  A 
thick  red  English  carpet  covered  the  floor ;  one  side 
of  the  room  was  concealed  by  a  crowded  bookcase, 
and  the  heavy  mahogany  furniture  was  handsomely 
carved,  although  upholstered  with  horse-hair. 

In  an  hour  every  detail  of  the  transaction  had 
been  disposed  of,  and  Dario  had  traded  a  small 
rancho  for  a  herd  of  cattle.  The  young  man's  face 
was  very  long  when  the  last  detail  had  been  ar- 
ranged, but  he  had  forgotten  that  his  host  was  as 


166          THE  CONQUEST  OF  DONA  JACOBA. 

Californian  as  himself.  Don  Roberto  poured  him  a 
brimming  glass  of  angelica,  and  gave  him  a  hearty 
slap  on  the  back. 

"  The  cattle  will  keep  for  a  few  days,  Don  Dario," 
he  said,  "  and  you  shall  not  leave  this  house  until 
the  festivities  are  over.  Not  until  a  week  from  to- 
morrow— do  you  hear  ?  I  knew  your  father.  We 
had  many  a  transaction  together,  and  I  take  pleas- 
ure in  welcoming  his  son  under  my  roof.  Now  get 
off  to  the  young  people,  and  do  not  make  any 
excuses." 

Dario  made  none. 


IV. 

"  THE  next  morning  at  eight,  Francisca  stood  before 
the  altar  in  the  chapel,  looking  very  handsome  in 
her  rich  gown  and  soft  mantilla.  The  bridegroom, 
a  sensible-looking  young  Englishman,  was  somewhat 
nervous,  but  Francisca  might  have  been  married 
every  morning  at  eight  o'clock.  Behind  them  stood 
Don  Roberto  in  a  new  suit  of  English  broadcloth,  and 
Doiia  Jacoba  in  heavy  lilac  silk,  half  covered  with 
priceless  lace.  The  six  bridesmaids  looked  like  a 
huge  bouquet  in  their  wide,  delicately  colored  skirts. 
Their  dark  eyes,  mischievous,  curious,  thoughtful, 
flashed  more  brilliantly  than  the  jewels  they  wore. 

The  sala  and  Don  Roberto's  room  beyond  were  so 
crowded  that  some  of  the  guests  stood  in  the  "win- 


THE  CONQUEST  OF  DONA  JACOBA.          167 

(lows,  and  many  could  not  enter  the  doors ;  every 
family  within  a  hundred  leagues  had  come  to  the 
wedding.  The  veranda  was  crowded  with  girls, 
the  sparkling  faces  draped  in~  black  mantillas  or 
bright  rebosas,  the  full  gay  gowns  fluttering  in  the 
breeze.  Men  in  jingling  spurs  and  all  the  bravery 
of  gold-laced  trousers  and  short  embroidered  jackets, 
respectfully  elbowed  their  way  past  brown  and  stout 
old  women  that  they  might  whisper  a  word  in  some 
pretty,  alert  little  ear.  They  had  all  ridden  many 
leagues  that  morning,  but  there  was  not  a  trace  of 
fatigue  on  any  face.  The  court  behind  the  sala  was 
full  of  Indian  servants  striving  to  catch  a  glimpse  of 
the  ceremony. 

Dario  stood  just  within  the  front  door,  his  eyes 
eagerly  fixed  upon  Elena.  She  looked  like  a  Cali- 
fornia lily  in  her  white  gown ;  even  her  head  drooped 
a  little  as  if  a  storm  had  passed.  Her  eyes  were 
absent  and  heavy;  they  mirrored  nothing  of  the 
solemn  gayety  of  the  morning ;  they  saw  only  the 
welts  on  her  brother's  back. 

Dario  had  not  seen  her  since  Santiago's  arrival. 
She  had  not  appeared  at  supper,  and  he  had  slept 
little  in  consequence ;  in  fact,  he  had  spent  most  of 
the  night  playing  monte  with  Joaquin  and  a  dozen 
other  young  men  in  the  billiard-room. 

During  the  bridal  mass  the  padre  gave  communion 
to  the  young  couple,  and  to  those  who  had  made 
confession  the  night  before.  Elena  was  not  of  the 
number,  and  during  the  intense  silence  she  drew 
back  and  stood  and  knelt  near  Pario.  They  were 


168         THE  CONQUEST  OF  DONA  JACOBA. 

not  close  enough  to  speak,  had  they  dared ;  but  the 
Californian  had  other  speech  than  words,  and  Dario 
and  Elena  made  their  confession  that  morning. 

During  breakfast  they  were  at  opposite  ends  of 
the  long  table  in  the  dining-room,  but  neither  took 
part  in  the  songs  and  speeches,  the  toasts  and 
laughter.  Both  had  done  some  maneuvering  to  get 
out  of  sight  of  the  old  people,  and  sit  at  one  of  the 
many  other  tables  in  the  sala,  on  the  corridor,  in  the 
court;  but  Elena  had  to  go  with  the  bridesmaids, 
and  Joaquin  insisted  upon  doing  honor  to  the  unin- 
vited guest.  The  Indian  servants  passed  the  rich 
and  delicate,  the  plain  and  peppered  dishes,  the 
wines  and  the  beautiful  cakes  for  which  Dona  Jacoba 
and  her  daughters  were  famous.  The  massive  plate 
that  had  done  duty  for  generations  in  Spain  was  on 
the  table  ;  the  crystal  had  been  cut  in  England.  It 
was  the  banquet  of  a  grandee,  and  no  one  noticed 
the  silent  lovers. 

After  breakfast  the  girls  flitted  to  their  rooms  and 
changed  their  gowns,  and  wound  rebosas  or  mantillas 
about  their  heads  ;  the  men  put  off  their  jackets  for 
lighter  ones  of  flowered  calico,  and  the  whole  party, 
in  buggies  or  on  horseback,  started  for  a  bull-fight 
which  was  to  take  place  in  a  field  about  a  mile  be- 
hind the  house.  Elena  went  in  a  buggy  with  San- 
tiago, who  was  almost  as  pale  as  she.  Dario,  on 
horseback,  rode  as  near  her  as  he  dared ;  but  when 
they  reached  the  fence  about  the  field  careless  riders 
crowded  between,  and  he  could  only  watch  hev  from 
afar. 


THE  CONQUEST  OF  DONA  JACOBA.         169 

The  vaqueros  in  their  broad  black  hats  shining 
with  varnish,  their  black  velvet  jackets,  their  crim- 
son sashes  and  short,  black  velvet  trousers  laced 
with  silver  cord  over  spotless  linen,  looked  very 
picturesque  as  they  dashed  about  the  field  jingling 
their  spurs  and  shouting  at  each  other.  When  the 
bulls  trotted  in  and  greeted  each  other  pleasantly, 
the  vaqueros  swung  their  hissing  reatas  and  yelled 
until  the  maddened  animals  wreaked  their  vengeance 
on  each  other,  and  the  serious  work  of  the  day 
began. 

Elena  leaned  back  with  her  fan  before  her  eyes, 
but  Santiago  looked  on  eagerly  in  spite  of  his  Eng- 
lish training. 

"  Caramba!"  he  cried,  "but  that  old  bull  is 
tough.  Look,  Elena  !  The  little  one  is  down.  No, 
no !  He  has  the  big  one.  Ay !  yi,  yi  !  By  Jove ! 
he  is  gone — no,  he  has  run  off — he  is  on  him  again. 
He  has  ripped  him  up !  Brava  !  brava  !  " 

A  cheer  as  from  one  throat  made  the  mountains 
echo,  but  Elena  still  held  her  fan  before  the  field. 

"  How  canst  thou  like  such  bloody  sport?"  she 
asked,  disgustedly.  "The  poor  animals  !  What 
pleasure  canst  thou  take  to  see  a  fine  brute  kicking 
in  his  death-agony,  his  bowels  trailing  on  the 
ground  ?  " 

"  Fie,  Elena  !  Art  thou  not  a  Californian  ?  Dost 
thou  not  love  the  sport  of  thy  country  ?  Why,  look 
at  the  other  girls  !  They  are  mad  with  excitement- 
By  Jove !  I  never  saw  so  many  bright  eyes.  I 
wonder  if  I  will  be  too  stiff  to  dance  to-night  j 


170         THE  CONQUEST  OF  DONA  JACOBA. 

Elena!  she  gave  me  a  beating!  But  tell  me,  little 
one,  why  dost  thou  not  like  the  bull-fight  ?  I  feel 
like  another  man  since  I  have  seen  it." 

"  I  cannot  be  pleased  with  cruelty.  I  shall  never 
get  used  to  see  beasts  killed  for  amusement.  And 
Don  Dario  Castaiiares  does  not  like  it  either.  He 
never  smiled  once,  nor  said,  Brava  ! '  " 

"  Aha!  And  how  dost  thou  know  whether  he  did 
or  not?  I  thought  thy  face  was  behind  that  big 
black  fan." 

"  I  saw  him  through  the  sticks.  What  does  c  by 
Jove '  mean,  my  Santiago  ?  " 

He  enlightened  her,  then  stood  up  eagerly.  An- 
other bull  had  been  brought  in,  and  one  of  the 
vaqueros  was  to  fight  him.  During  the  next  two 
hours  Santiago  gave  little  thought  to  his  sister,  and 
sometimes  her  long  black  lashes  swept  above  the 
top  of  her  fan.  When  five  or  six  bulls  had  stamped 
and  roared  and  gored  and  died,  the  guests  of  Los 
Quervos  went  home  to  chocolate  and  siesta,  the 
others  returned  to  their  various  ranches. 

But  Dario  took  no  nap  that  day.  Twice  he  had 
seen  an  Indian  girl  at  Elena's  window,  and  as  the 
house  settled  down  to  temporary  calm,  he  saw  the 
girl  go  to  the  rancheria  among  the  willows.  He 
wrote  a  note,  and  followed  her  as  soon  as  he  dared. 
She  wore  a  calico  frock,  exactly  like  a  hundred 
others,  and  her  stiff  black  hair  cut  close  to  her  neck 
in  the  style  enforced  by  Dona  Jacoba ;  But  Dario 
recognized  her  imitation  of  Elena's  walk  and  car- 
riage. He  was  very  nervous,  but  he  managed  to 


THE  CONQUEST  OF  DONA  JACOBA.         171 

stroll  about,  and  make  his  visit  appear  one  of  cu- 
riosity. As  he  passed  the  girl  he  told  her  to  follow 
him,  and  in  a  few  moments  they  were  alone  in  a 
thicket.  He  had  hard  work  persuading  her  to  take 
the  note  to  her  mistress,  for  she  stood  in  abject 
awe  of  Doila  Jacoba;  but  love  of  Elena  and  sym- 
pathy for  the  handsome  stranger  prevailed,  and 
the  girl  went  off  with  the  missive. 

The  staircase  led  from  Don  Roberto's  room  to 
Dona  Jacoba's  ;  but  the  lady's  all-seeing  eyes  were 
closed,  and  the  master  was  snoring  in  his  library. 
Malia  tiptoed  by  both,  and  Elena,  who  had  been 
half  asleep,  sat  up,  trembling  with  excitement,  and 
read  the  impassioned  request  for  an  interview.  She 
lifted  her  head  and  listened,  panting  a  little.  Then 
she  ran  to  the  door  and  looked  into  the  library. 
Her  father  was  sound  asleep;  there  could  be  no 
doubt  of  that.  She  dared  not  write  an  answer,  but 
she  closed  the  door  and  put  her  lips  to  the  girl's  ear. 

"  Tell  him,"  she  murmured,  horrified  at  her  own 
boldness — "  tell  him  to  take  me  out  for  the  contra- 
danza  to-night.  There  is  no  other  chance."  And 
the  girl  went  back  and  delivered  the  message. 


V. 

THE  guests  and  family  met  again  at  supper ;  but 
yards  of  linen  and  mounds  of  plate,  spirited,  quickly 
turning  heads,  flowered  muslin  gowns  and  silken 


172         THE  CONQUEST  OF  DONA  JACOBA. 

jackets,  again  separated  Dario  and  Elena.  He 
caught  a  glimpse  now  and  again  of  her  graceful 
head  turning  on  its  white  throat,  or  of  her  sad,  pure 
profile  shining  before  her  mother's  stern  old  face. 

Immediately  after  supper  the  bride  and  groom 
led  the  way  to  the  sala,  the  musicians  tuned  their 
violins  and  guitars,  and  after  an  hour's  excited  com- 
ment upon  the  events  of  the  day  the  dancing  began. 
Dona  Jacoba  could  be  very  gracious  when  she  chose, 
and  she  moved  among  her  guests  like  a  queen  to- 
night, begging  them  to  be  happy,  and  electrifying 
them  with  her  rare  smile.  She  dispelled  their  awe 
of  her  with  magical  tact,  and  when  she  laid  her  hand 
on  one  young  beauty's  shoulder,  and  told  her  that 
her  eyes  put  out  the  poor  candles  of  Los  Quervos,  the 
girl  was  ready  to  fling  herself  on  the  floor  and  kiss 
the  tyrant's  feet.  Elena  watched  her  anxiously. 
Her  father  petted  her  in  his  harsh,  abrupt  way.  If 
she  had  ever  received  a  kiss  from  her  mother  she 
did  not  remember  it ;  but  she  worshiped  the  blind- 
ing personality  of  the  woman,  although  she  shook 
before  the  relentless  will.  But  that  her  mother  was 
pleased  to  be  gracious  to-night  was  beyond  question, 
and  she  gave  Dario  a  glance  of  timid  encouragement, 
which  brought  him  to  her  side  at  once. 

"  At  your  feet,  sefiorita,"  he  said ;  "  may  I  dare  beg 
the  honor  of  the  contradanza  ?  " 

She  bent  her  slender  body  in  a  pretty  curtsey. 
"  It  is  a  small  favor  to  grant  a  guest  who  deigns  to 
honor  us  with  his  presence." 

He  led  her  out,  and  when  he  was  not  gazing  en- 


THE  CONQUEST  OF  DONA  JACOBA.          173 

raptured  at  the  graceful  swaying  and  gliding  of  her 
body,  he  managed  to  make  a  few  conventional 
remarks. 

"  You  do  not  like  bull-fighting,  senorita." 

"  He  watched  me,"  she  thought.  "  No,  senor.  I 
like  nothing  that  is  cruel." 

"  Those  soft  eyes  could  never  be  cruel.  Ay,  you 
are  so  beautiful,  senorita." 

"  I  am  but  a  little  country  girl,  seiior.  You  must 
have  seen  far  more  beautiful  women  in  the  cities. 
Have  you  ever  been  in  Monterey  ?  " 

"  Yes,  seiiorita,  many  times.  I  have  seen  all  the 
beauties,  even  Dona  Modeste  Castro.  Once,  too — 
that  was  before  the  Americans  came — I  saw  the 
Senorita  Ysabel  Herrera,  a  woman  so  beautiful  that 
a  man  robbed  a  church  and  murdered  a  priest  for 
her  sake.  But  she  was  not  so  beautiful  as  you, 
senorita." 

The  blood  throbbed  in  the  girl's  fair  cheeks. 
"  He  must  love  me,"  she  told  herself,  "  to  think  me 
more  beautiful  than  Ysabel  Herrera.  Joaquin  says 
she  was  the  handsomest  woman  that  ever  was 
seen." 

"You  compliment  me,  senor,"  she  answered, 
vaguely.  "  She  had  wonderful  green  eyes.  So  has 
the  Seiiora  Castro.  Mine  are  only  brown,  like  so 
many  other  girl's." 

"  They  are  the  most  beautiful  eyes  in  California. 
They  are  like  the  Madonna's.  I  do  not  care  for 
green  eyes."  His  black  ones  flashed  their  language 
to  hers,  and  Elena  wondered  if  she  had  ever  been 


174         THE  CONQUEST  OF  DONA  JACOBA. 

unhappy.  She  barely  remembered  where  she  was, 
forgot  that  she  was  a  helpless  bird  in  a  golden  cage. 
Her  mate  had  flown  through  the  open  door. 

The  contradanza  ends  with  a  waltz,  and  as  Dario 
held  her  in  his  arms  his  last  remnant  of  prudence 
gave  way. 

"Elena,  Elena,"  he  murmured  passionately,  "I 
love  thee.  Dost  thou  not  know  it  ?  Dost  thou  not 
love  me  a  little  ?  Ay,  Elena !  I  have  not  slept  one 
hour  since  I  saw  thee." 

She  raised  her  eyes  to  his  face.  The  sadness  still 
dwelt  in  their  depths,  but  above  floated  the  soft 
flame  of  love  and  trust.  She  had  no  coquetry  in  her 
straightforward  and  simple  nature. 

"  Yes,"  she  whispered,  "  I  love  thee." 

"  And  thou  art  happy,  querida  mia  f  Thou  art 
happy  here  in  my  arms  ?  " 

She  let  her  cheek  rest  for  a  moment  against  his 
shoulder.  "  Yes,  I  am  very  happy." 

"And  thou  wilt  marry  me?" 

The  words  brought  her  back  to  reality,  and  the 
light  left  her  face. 

"  Ay,"  she  said,  "  why  did  you  say  that  ?  It  can- 
not ever  be." 

"  But  it  shall  be  !  Why  not  ?  I  will  speak  with 
Don  Roberto  in  the  morning." 

The  hand  that  lay  on  his  shoulder  clutched  him 
suddenly.  "  No,  no,"  she  said  hurriedly  ;  "  promise 
me  that  thou  wilt  not  speak  to  him  for  two  or  three 
days  at  least.  My  father  wants  us  all  to  marry 
Englishmen.  He  is  kind,  and  he  loves  me,  but  he 


THE  CONQUEST  OF  DONA  JACOBA.         175 

is  mad*  for  Englishmen.  And  we  can  be  happy 
meanwhile." 

The  music  stopped,  and  he  could  only  murmur 
his  promises  before  leading  her  back  to  her  mother. 

He  dared  not  take  her  out  again,  but  he  danced 
with  no  one  else  in  spite  of  many  inviting  eyes,  and 
spent  the  rest  of  the  night  on  the  corridor,  where  he 
could  watch  her  unobserved.  The  walls  were  so 
thick  at  Los  Quervos  that  each  window  had  a  deep 
seat  within  and  without.  Dario  ensconced  himself, 
and  was  comfortable,  if  tumultuous. 

Elena  sang  once  during  the  evening — not  a  love- 
ballad,  but  that  saddest  and  most  beautiful  of 
all  Spanish  songs,  "  The  Last  Sigh  of  the  Moor." 
So  passionate  was  her  cry,  "Ay,  minca,  nunca, 
nunca  mas!"  that  Dario  knelt  on  the  slopes  of 
Granada  and  kissed  the  hand  of  Boabdil  el  Chico 
with  adoring  fealty,  then  shuddered  with  the  super- 
stition of  his  race  as  he  realized  that  the  despairing 
words  came  from  the  lips  of  Elena  Duncan. 


VI. 

WITH  dawn  the  dancing  ended,  and  quiet  fell  upon 
Los  Quervos.  But  at  twelve  gay  voices  and  laugh- 
ter came  through  every  window.  The  family  and 
guests  were  taking  their  cold  bath,  ready  for  another 
eighteen  hours  of  pleasure. 

Shortly  after  the  long  dinner,  the  iron-barred  gates 
of  the  corral  were  thrown  open  and  a  band  of  horses, 


176         THE  CONQUEST  OF  DONA  JACOBA. 

golden  bronze  in  color,  with  silveren  mane  and  tail, 
silken  embroidered  saddle  on  their  slender  back, 
trotted  up  to  the  door.  The  beautiful  creatures 
shone  in  the  sun  like  burnished  armor ;  they  arched 
their  haughty  neck  and  lifted  their  small  feet  as  if 
they  were  Californian  beauties  about  to  dance  El  Son. 

The  girls  wore  short  riding-skirt  girt  with  gay 
sash.  A  little  round  hat  was  on  their  head.  The 
men  wore  thin  jackets  of  brightly  colored  silk,  gold- 
laced  knee-breeches,  and  silver  spurs.  They  tossed 
the  girls,  upon  their  saddles,  vaulted  into  their  own, 
and  all  started  on  a  wild  gallop  for  the  races. 

Dario,  with  much  manoeuvring,  managed  to  ride 
by  Elena's  side.  It  was  impossible  to  exchange  a 
word  with  her,  for  keen  and  mischievous  ears  were 
about  them ;  but  they  were  close  together,  and  a  kind 
of  ecstasy  possessed  them  both.  The  sunshine  was  so 
golden,  the  quivering  visible  air  so  full  of  soft  intoxi- 
cation! They  were  filled  with  a  reckless  animal 
joy  of  living— the  divine  right  of  youth  to  exist  and 
be  happy.  The  bars  of  Elena's  cage  sank  into  the 
warm,  resounding  earth ;  she  wanted  to  cry  aloud 
her  joy  to  the  birds,  to  hold  and  kiss  the  air  as  it 
passed.  Her  face  sparkled,  her  mouth  grew  full. 
She  looked  at  Dario,  and  he  dug  his  spurs  into  his 
horse's  flanks. 

The  representatives  of  many  ranches,  their  wives 
and  daughters,  awaited  the  party  from  Los  Quer- 
vos.  But  none  pushed  their  way  between  Dario 
and  Elena  that  day.  And  they  both  enjoyed  the 
races ;  they  were  in  a  mood  to  enjoy  anything.  They 


THE  CONQUEST  OF  DONA  JACO&A.         177 

became  excited,  and  shouted  with  the  rest  as  the 
vaqueros  flew  down  the  field.  Dario  bet  and  lost  a 
ranchita,  then  bet  and  won  another.  He  won  a  herd 
of  cattle,  a  band  of  horses,  a  saddle-bag  of  golden 
slugs.  Surely,  fortune  smiled  on  him  from  the  eyes 
of  Elena.  When  the  races  were  over  they  galloped 
down  to  the  ocean  and  over  the  cliffs  and  sands, 
watching  the  ponderous  waves  fling  themselves  on 
the  rocks,  then  back,  and  rear  their  crests  to  thunder 
on  again. 

"  The  fog ! "  cried  some  one.  "  The  fog !  "  And 
with  shrieks  of  mock  terror  they  turned  their  horses' 
heads  and  raced  down  the  valley,  the  fog  after  them 
like  a  phantom  tidal  wave  ;  but  they  outstripped  it, 
and  sprang  from  their  horses  at  the  corridor  of  Los 
Quervos  with  shouts  of  triumph  and  lightly  blown 
kisses  at  the  enemy. 

After  supper  they  found  eggs  piled  upon  silver 
dishes  in  the  sala,  and  with  cries  of  "  Cascaron! 
Cascaron ! '"  they  flung  them  at  each  other,  the 
cologne  and  flour  and  tinsel  with  which  the  shells 
were  filled  deluging  and  decorating  them. 

Dona  Jacoba  again  was  in  a  most  gracious  mood, 
and  leaned  against  the  wall,  an  amused  smile  on  her 
strong,  serene  face.  Her  husband  stood  by  her,  and 
she  indicated  Elena  by  a  motion  of  her  fan. 

"Is  she  not  beautiful  to-night,  our  little  one?" 
she  asked,  proudly.  "  See  how  pink  her  cheeks  are ! 
Her  eyes  shine  like  stars.  She  is  the  handsomest  of 
all  our  children,  viejo." 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  something  like  tenderness  in  his 
12 


178      THE  CONQUEST  OF  DONA  JACOBA. 

cold  blue  eyes,  "  there  is  no  prettier  girl  on  twenty 
ranches.  She  shall  marry  the  finest  Englishman  of 
them  all." 

Elena  threw  a  cascaron  directly  into  Dario' s  mouth, 
and  although  the  cologne  scalded  his  throat,  he 
heroically  swallowed  it,  and  revenged  himself  by 
covering  her  black  locks  with  flour.  The  guests, 
like  the  children  they  were,  chased  each  other  all 
over  the  house,  up  and  down  the  stairs ;  the  men  hid 
under  tables,  only  to  have  a  sly  hand  break  a  cas- 
caron on  the  back  of  their  heads,  and  to  receive  a 
deluge  down  the  spinal  column.  The  bride  chased 
her  dignified  groom  out  into  the  yard,  and  a  dozen 
followed,  t'hen  Dario  found  his  chance. 

Elena  was  after  him,  and  as  they  passed  beneath 
a  tree  he  turned  like  a  flash  and  caught  her  in  his 
arms  and  kissed  her.  For  a  second  she  tried  to  free 
herself,  mindful  that  her  sisters  had  not  kissed  their 
lover  until  they  stood  with  him  in  the  chapel ;  but 
she  was  made  for  love,  and  in  a  moment  her  white 
arms  were  clinging  about  his  neck.  People  were 
shouting  around  them ;  there  was  time  for  but  few 
of  the  words  Dario  wished  to  say. 

"  Thou  must  write  me  a  little  note  every  day,"  he 
commanded.  "  Thy  brother's  coat,  one  that  he  does 
not  wear,  hangs  behind  the  door  in  my  room.  To- 
morrow morning  thou  wilt  find  a  letter  from  me  in 
the  pocket.  Let  me  find  one  there  too.  Kiss  me 
again,  Consuelo  de  mi  alma ! "  and  they  separated 
suddenly  to  speak  no  more  that  night. 


THE  CONQUEST  OF  DONA  JACOBA.         179 


VII. 


THE  next  morning,  when  Elena  went  to  Joaquin'a 
room  to  make  the  bed,  she  found  Dario's  note  in  the 
pocket  of  the  coat,  but  she  had  had  no  opportunity  to 
write  one  herself.  Nor  did  she  have  time  to  read 
his  until  after  dinner,  although  it  burned  her  neck 
and  took  away  her  appetite.  When  the  meal  was 
over  she  ran  down  to  the  willows  and  read  it  there, 
then  went  straight  to  the  favorite  lounging-place  of 
an  old  vaquero  who  had  adored  her  from  the  days 
when  she  used  to  trot  about  the  rancho  holding  his 
forefinger,  or  perch  herself  upon  his  shoulder  and 
command  him  to  gallop. 

He  was  smoking  his  pipe,  and  he  looked  up  in 
some  wonder  as  she  stood  before  him,  flushed  and 
panting,  her  eyes  glancing  apprehensively  about. 

"  Pedro,"  she  said,  imperiously,  "  get  down  on  thy 
hands  and  knees." 

Pedro  was  the  color  of  tanned  leather  and  very 
hairy,  but  his  face  beamed  with  good-nature.  He 
put  his  pipe  between  his  teeth  and  did  as  he  was 
bidden.  Elena  produced  the  pencil  and  paper  she 
had  managed  to  purloin  from  her  father's  table,  and 
kneeling  beside  her  faithful  vaquero,  wrote  a  note  on 
his  back.  It  took  her  a  long  time  to  coin  that  simple 
epistle,  for  she  had  never  written  a  love-letter  be- 
fore. But  Pedro  knelt  like  a  rock,  although  his  old 


180         THE  CONQUEST  OF  DONA  JACOB  A. 

knees  ached.  When  the  note  was  finished  she 
thrust  it  into  her  gown,  and  patted  Pedro  on  the 
head. 

"  I  love  thee,  my  old  man.  I  will  make  thee  a  new 
salve  for  thy  rheumatism  and  a  big  cake." 

As  she  approached  the  house  her  mother  stood  on 
the  corridor  watching  the  young  people  mount,  and 
Elena  shivered  as  she  met  a  fiery  and  watchful  eye. 
Yesterday  had  been  a  perfect  day,  but  the  chill  of 
fear  touched  this.  She  sprang  on  her  horse  and 
went  with  the  rest  to  the  games.  Her  brother  Joa- 
quin  kept  persistently  by  her  side,  and  Dario  thought 
it  best  not  to  approach  her.  She  took  little  interest 
in  the  games.  The  young  men  climbed  the  greased 
pole  amidst  soft,  derisive  laughter.  The  greased  pig 
was  captured  by  his  tail  in  a  tumult  of  excitement, 
which  rivaled  the  death  of  the  bull,  but  Elena  paid 
no  attention.  It  was  not  until  Dario,  restive  with 
inaction,  entered  the  lists  for  the  buried  rooster,  and 
by  its  head  twisted  it  from  the  ground  as  his  horse 
flew  by,  that  she  was  roused  to  interest;  and  as 
many  had  failed,  and  as  his  was  the  signal  victory 
of  the  day,  he  rode  home  somewhat  consoled. 

That  night,  as  Dario  and  Elena  danced  the  contra- 
danza  together,  they  felt  the  eyes  of  Dona  Jacoba 
upon  them,  but  he  dared  to  whisper : 

"To-morrow  morning  I  speak  with  thy  father. 
Our  wedding-day  must  be  set  before  another  sun 
goes  down." 

"No,  no!"  gasped  Elena;  but  for  once  Dario 
would  not  listen. 


THE  CONQUEST  OF  DONA  JACOBA.         Ifcl 


VIII. 

As  soon  as  Elena  had  left  his  room  next  morning, 
Dario  returned  and  read  the  note  she  had  put  in  her 
brother's  pocket.  It  gave  him  courage,  his  dreamy 
eyes  flashed,  his  sensitive  mouth  curved  proudly. 
As  soon  as  dinner  was  over  he  followed  Don  Roberto 
up  to  the  library.  The  old  man  stretched  himself 
out  in  the  long  brass  and  leather  chair  which  had 
been  imported  from  England  for  his  comfort,  and 
did  not  look  overjoyed  when  his  guest  begged  a  few 
moments'  indulgence. 

"  I  am  half  asleep,"  he  said.  "  Is  it  about  those 
cattle?  Joaquin  knows  as  much  about  them  as  I 
do." 

Dario  had  not  been  asked  to  sit  down,  and  he  stood 
before  Don  Roberto  feeling  a  little  nervous,  and 
pressing  his  hand  against  the  mantelpiece. 

"  I  do  not  wish  to  speak  of  cattle,  senor." 

"No?  What  then?"  The  old  man's  face  was 
flushed  with  wine,  and  his  shaggy  brows  were  droop- 
ing heavily. 

« it  is— it  is  about  Elena." 

The  brows  lifted  a  little. 

«  Elena  ?  " 

"  Yes,  senor.  We  love  each  other  very  much.  I 
wish  to  ask  your  permission  that  we  may  be  mar- 
ried." 


182         THE  CONQUEST  OF  DONA  JACOB  A. 

The  brows  went  up  with  a  rush  ;  the  stiff  hairs 
stood  out  like  a  roof  above  the  cold,  angry  eyes. 
For  a  moment  Don  Roberto  stared  at  the  speaker  as 
if  he  had  not  heard,  then  he  sprang  to  his  feet,  his 
red  face  purple. 

"  Get  out  of  my  house,  you  damned  vagabond !  " 
he  shouted.  "Go  as  fast  as  God  Almighty'll  let  you. 
You  marry  my  daughter, — you  damned  Indian !  I 
wouldn't  give  her  to  you  if  you  were  pure-blooded 
Castilian,  much  less  to  a  half-breed  whelp.  And  you 
have  dared  to  make  love  to  her.  Go !  Do  you  hear  ? 
Or  I'll  kick  you  down  the  stairs  !  " 

Dario  drew  himself  up  and  looked  back  at  his 
furious  host  with  a  pride  that  matched  his  own.  The 
blood  was  smarting  in  his  veins,  but  he  made  no  sign 
and  walked  down  the  stair. 

Don  Roberto  went  at  once  in  search  of  his  wife. 
Failing  to  find  her,  he  walked  straight  into  the  sala, 
and  taking  Elena  by  the  arm  before  the  assembled 
guests,  marched  her  upstairs  and  into  her  room,  and 
locked  the  door  with  his  key. 

Elena  fell  upon  the  floor  and  sobbed  with  rebellious 
mortification  and  terror.  Her  father  had  not  uttered 
a  word,  but  she  knew  the  meaning  of  his  summary 
act,  and  other  feelings  soon  gave  way  to  despair. 
That  she  would  never  see  Dario  Castaiiares  again  was 
certain,  and  she  wept  and  prayed  with  all  the  abandon 
of  her  Spanish  nature.  A  picture  of  the  Virgin  hung 
over  the  bed,  and  she  raised  herself  on  her  knees  and 
lifted  her  clasped  hands  to  it  beseechingly.  With 
her  tumbled  hair  and  white  face,  her  streaming,  up- 


THE  CONQUEST  OF  DONA  JACOB  A.         183 

turned  eyes  and  drawn  mouth,  she  looked  more  like 
the  Mater  Dolorosa  than  the  expressionless  print  she 
prayed  to. 

"  Mary  !  Mother !  "  she  whispered,  "  have  mercy 
on  thy  poor  little  daughter.  Give  him  to  me.  I  ask 
for  nothing  else  in  this  world.  I  do  not  care  for  gold 
or  ranches,  only  to  be  his  wife.  I  am  so  lonely,  my 
mother,  for  even  Santiago  thinks  of  so  many  other 
things  than  me.  I  only  want  to  be  loved,  and  no 
one  else  will  ever  love  me  who  can  make  me  love 
him.  Ay  !  give  him  to  me !  give  him  to  me !  "  And 
she  threw  herself  on  her  face  once  more,  and  sobbed 
until  her  tears  were  exhausted.  Then  she  dragged 
herself  to  the  window  and  leaned  over  the  deep  seat. 
Perhaps  she  might  have  one  glimpse  of  him  as  he 
rode  away. 

She  gave  a  little  cry  of  agony  and  pleasure.  He 
was  standing  by  the  gates  of  the  corral  whilst  the 
vaqueros  rounded  up  the  cattle  he  had  bought.  His 
arms  were  folded,  his  head  hung  forward.  As  he 
heard  her  cry,  he  lifted  his  face,  and  Elena  saw  the 
tears  in  his  eyes.  For  the  moment  they  gazed  at 
each  other,  those  lovers  of  California's  long-ago, 
while  the  very  atmosphere  quivering  between  them 
seemed  a  palpable  barrier.  Elena  flung  out  her  arms 
with  a  sudden,  passionate  gesture ;  he  gave  a  hoarse 
cry,  and  paced  up  and  down  like  a  race-horse  curbed 
with  a  Spanish  bit.  How  to  have  one  last  word  with 
her  ?  If  she  were  behind  the  walls  of  the  fort  of 
Monterey  it  would  be  as  easy.  He  dared  not  speak 
from  where  he  was.  Already  the  horses  were  at  the 


184         THE  CONQUEST  OF  DONA  JACOBA. 

door  to  carry  the  eager  company  to  a  fight  between 
a  bull  and  a  bear.  But  he  could  write  a  note  if  he 
only  had  the  materials.  It  was  useless  to  return  to 
his  room,  for  Joaquin  was  there,  and  he  hoped  never 
to  see  that  library  again.  But  was  there  ever  a  lover 
in  whom  necessity  did  not  develop  the  genius  of 
invention  ?  Dario  flashed  upward  a  glance  of  hope, 
then  took  from  his  pocket  a  slip  of  the  rice-paper 
used  for  making  cigaritos.  lie  burnt  a  match,  and 
with  the  charred  stump  scrawled  a  few  lines. 

"Elena!  Mine!  Star  of  my  life!  My  sweet! 
Beautiful  and  idolized.  Farewell !  Farewell,  my 
darling !  My  heart  is  sad.  God  be  with  thee. 

"  DAJJIO." 

He  wrapped  the  paper  about  a  stone,  and  tied  it 
with  a  wisp  of  grass.  With  a  sudden  flexile  turn  of 
a  wrist  that  had  thrown  many  a  reata,  he  flung  it 
straight  through  the  open  window.  Elena  read  the 
incoherent  words,  then  fell  insensible  to  the  floor. 


IX. 

IT  was  the  custom  of  Dona  Jacoba  to  personally 
oversee  her  entire  establishment  every  day,  and  she 
always  went  at  a  different  hour,  that  laziness  might 
never  feel  sure  of  her  back.  To-day  she  visited 


THE  CONQUEST  OF  DONA  JACOBA.         185 

the  rancheria  immediately  after  dinner,  and  looked 
through  every  hut  with  her  piercing  eyes.  It  the 
children  were  dirty,  she  peremptorily  ordered  their 
stout  mammas  to  put  them  into  the  clean  clothes 
which  her  bounty  had  provided.  If  a  bed  was  un- 
made, she  boxed  the  ears  of  the  owner,  and  sent  her 
spinning  across  the  room  to  her  task.  But  she 
found  little  to  scold  about ;  her  discipline  was  too 
rigid.  When  she  was  satisfied  that  the  huts  were 
in  order,  she  went  down  to  the  great  stone  tubs 
sunken  in  the  ground,  where  the  women  were  wash- 
ing in  the  heavy  shade  of  the  willows.  In  their 
calico  gowns  they  made  bright  bits  of  color  against 
the  drooping  green  of  the  trees. 

"  Maria,"  she  cried,  sharply,  "  thou  art  wringing 
that  fine  linen  too  harshly.  Dost  thou  wish  to  break 
in  pieces  the  bridal  clothes  of  thy  senorita?  Be 
careful,  or  I  will  lay  the  whip  acoss  thy  shoulders." 

She  walked  slowly  through  the  willows,  enjoying 
the  shade.  Her  fine  old  head  was  held  sternly  back, 
and  her  shoulders  were  as  square  as  her  youngest 
son's ;  but  she  sighed  a  little,  and  pressed  a  willow 
branck  to  her  face  with  a  caressing  motion.  She 
looked  up  to  the  gray  peak  standing  above  its  fel- 
lows, bare,  ugly,  gaunt.  She  was  not  an  imagina- 
tive woman,  but  she  had  always  felt  in  closer  kin- 
ship with  that  solitary  peak  than  with  her  own  blood. 
As  she  left  the  wood  and  saw  the  gay  cavalcade  about 
to  start — the  burnished  horses,  the  dashing  cabal- 
leros,  the  girls  with  their  radiant  face  and  jaunty 
habit  — she  sighed  again.  Long  ago  she  had  been 


186         THE  CONQUEST  OF  DONA  JACOB  A. 

the  bride  of  a  brilliant  young  Mexican  officer  for  a 
few  brief  years ;  her  youth  had  gone  with  his  life. 

She  avoided  the  company  and  went  around  to  the 
buildings  at  the  back  of  the  house.  Approving  here, 
reproaching  there,  she  walked  leisurely  through  the 
various  rooms  where  the  Indians  were  making  lard, 
shoes,  flour,  candles.  She  was  in  the  chocolate  manu- 
factory when  her  husband  found  her. 

"Come— come  at  once,"  he  said.  "I  have  good 
news  for  thee." 

She  followed  him  to  his  room,  knowing  by  his  face 
that  something  had  happened.  But  she  was  not 
prepared  for  the  tale  he  poured  forth  with  violent 
interjections  of  English  and  Spanish  oaths.  She 
had  detected  a  flirtation  between  her  daughter  and 
the  uninvited  guest,  and  not  approving  of  flirtations, 
had  told  Joaquin  to  keep  his  eyes  upon  them  when 
hers  were  absent ;  but  that  the  man  should  dare,  and 
the  girl  should  stoop  to  think  of  marriage,  wrought 
in  her  a  passion  to  which  her  husband's  seemed  the 
calm  flame  of  a  sperm-candle. 

"  What ! "  she  cried,  her  hoarse  voice  breaking. 
"  What !  A  half-breed  aspire  to  a  Cortez  ! "  She 
forgot  her  husband's  separateness  with  true  Cali- 
fornian  pride.  "  My  daughter  and  the  son  of  an  In- 
dian! Holy  God!  And  she  has  dared! — She  has 
dared !  The  little  imbecile !  The  little- —  But," 
— and  she  gave  a  furious  laugh, — "  she  will  not  for- 
get again." 

She  caught  the  green-hide  reata  from  the  nail  and 
went  up  the  stair.  Crossing  the  library  with  heavy 


THE  CONQUEST  OF  DONA  JACOB  A.         187 

tread,  as  if  she  would  stamp  her  rage  through  the 
floor,  she  turned  the  key  in  the  door  of  her  daugh- 
ter's room  and  strode  in.  The  girl  still  lay  on  the 
floor,  although  consciousness  had  returned.  As 
Elena  saw  her  mother's  face  she  cowered  pitifully. 
That  terrible  temper  seldom  dominated  the  iron  will 
of  the  woman,  but  Santiago  had  shaken  it  a  few  days 
ago,  and  Elena  knew  that  her  turn  had  come. 

Doiia  Jacoba  shut  the  door  and  towered  above  her 
daughter,  red  spots  on  her  face,  her  small  eyes  blaz- 
ing, an  icy  sneer  on  her  mouth.  She  did  not  speak 
one  word.  She  caught  the  girl  by  her  delicate 
shoulder,  jerked  her  to  her  feet,  and  lashed  her  with 
the  heavy  whip  until  screams  mingled  with  the  gay 
laughter  of  the  parting  guests.  When  she  had 
beaten  her  until  her  own  arm  ached,  she  flung  her 
on  the  bed  and  went  out  and  locked  the  door. 

Elena  was  insensible  again  for  a  while,  then  lay 
dull  and  inert  for  hours.  She  had  a  passive  longing 
for  death.  After  the  suffering  and  the  hideous  mor- 
tification of  that  day,  there  seemed  no  other  climax. 
The  cavalcade  rode  beneath  her  windows  once  more 
with  their  untired  laughter,  their  splendid  vitality. 
They  scattered  to  their  rooms  to  don  their  bright 
evening  gowns,  then  went  to  the  dining-room  and 
feasted. 

After  supper  Francisca  unlocked  Elena's  door  and 
entered  with  a  little  tray  on  her  hand.  Elena  refused 
to  eat,  but  her  sister's  presence  roused  her,  and  she 
turned  her  face  to  the  wall  and  burst  into  tears. 

"  Nonsense !  "  said  Francisca,  kindly.     "  Do  not 


188         THE  CONQUEST  OF  DONA  JACOBA. 

cry,  my  sister.  What  is  a  lover  ?  The  end  of  a  lit- 
tle flirtation  ?  My  father  will  find  thee  a  husband — 
a  strong,  fair  English  husband  like  mine.  Dost 
thou  not  prefer  blondes  to  brunettes,  my  sister  ?  I 
am  sorry  my  mother  beat  thee,  but  she  has  such  a 
sense  of  her  duty.  She  did  it  for  thy  good,  my 
Elena.  Let  me  dress  thee  in  thy  new  gown,  the 
white  silk  with  the  pale-blue  flowers.  It  is  high  in 
the  neck  and  long  in  the  sleeves,  and  will  hide  the 
marks  of  the  whip.  Come  down  and  play  cascarones, 
and  dance  until  dawn  and  forget  all  about  it." 

But  Elena  only  wept  on,  and  Francisca  left  her 
for  more  imperative  duties. 

The  next  day  the  girl  still  refused  to  eat,  although 
Dona  Jacoba  opened  her  mouth  and  poured  a  cup  of 
chocolate  down  her  throat.  Late  in  the  afternoon 
Santiago  slipped  into  the  room  and  bent  over  her. 

"  Elena,"  he  whispered,  hurriedly.  "  Look  !  I 
have  a  note  for  thee." 

Elena  sat  upright  on  the  bed,  and  he  thrust  a 
piece  of  folded  paper  into  her  hand.  "Here  it  is. 
He  is  in  San  Luis  Obispo,  and  says  he  will  stay 
there ;  remember  it  is  but  a  few  miles  away. 
My " 

Elena  sank  back  with  a  cry,  and  Santiago  blas- 
phemed in  English.  Dona  Jacoba  unlocked  her 
daughter's  hand,  took  the  note,  and  led  Santiago  from 
the  room.  When  she  reached  her  own,  she  opened 
a  drawer  and  handed  him  a  canvas  bag  full  of  gold. 

"  Go  to  San  Francisco  and  enjoy  thyself,"  she  said. 
"Interfere  no  farther  between  thy  sister  and  thy 


THE  CONQUEST  OF  DONA  JACOB  A.         189 

parents,  unless  thou  preferest  that  reata  to  gold. 
Thy  craft  cannot  outwit  mine,  and  she  will  read  no 
notes.  Thou  art  a  foolish  boy  to  set  thy  sense 
against  thy  mother's.  I  may  seem  harsh  to  my 
children,  but  I  strive  on  my  knees  for  their  good. 
And  when  I  have  made  up  my  mind  that  a  thing  is 
right  to  do,  thou  knowest  that  my  nature  is  of  iron. 
No  child  of  mine  shall  marry  a  lazy  vagabond  who 
can  do  nothing  but  lie  in  a  hammock  and  bet  and 
gamble  and  make  love.  And  a  half-breed !  Mother 
of  God !  Now  go  to  San  Francisco,  and  send  for 
more  money  when  this  is  gone." 

Santiago  obeyed.  There  was  nothing  else  for 
him  to  do. 

Elena  lay  in  her  bed,  scarcely  touching  food.  Poor 
child!  her  nature  demanded  nothing  of  life  but 
love,  and  that  denied  her,  she  could  find  no  reason 
for  living.  She  was  not  sport-loving  like  Joaquin. 
nor  practical  like  Francisca,  nor  learned  like  Santiago, 
nor  ambitious  to  dance  through  life  like  her  many 
nieces.  She  was  but  a  clinging,  unreasoning  creat- 
ure, with  hot  blood  and  a  great  heart.  But  she  no 
longer  prayed  to  have  Dario  given  her.  It  seemed 
to  her  that  after  such  suffering  her  saddened  and 
broken  spirit  would  cast  its  shadows  over  her  hap- 
piest moments,  and  she  longed  only  for  death. 

Her  mother,  becoming  alarmed  at  her  increasing 
weakness,  called  in  an  old  woman  who  had  been 
midwife  and  doctor  of  the  county  for  half  a  century. 
She  came,  a  bent  and  bony  woman  who  must  have 
been  majestic  in  her  youth.  Her  front  teeth  were 


190         THE  CONQUEST  OF  DONA  JACOBA. 

gone,  her  face  was  stained  with  dark  splashes  like 
the  imprint  of  a  pre-natal  hand.  Over  her  head  she 
wore  a  "black  shawl,  and  she  looked  enough  like  a 
witch  to  frighten  her  patients  into  eternity  had  they 
not  been  so  well  used  to  her.  She  prodded  Elena 
all  over  as  if  the  girl  were  a  loaf  of  bread  and  her 
knotted  fingers  sought  a  lump  of  flour  in  the  dough. 

"  The  heart,"  she  said  to  Dona  Jacoba  with  sharp 
emphasis,  her  back  teeth  meeting  with  a  click,  as 
if  to  proclaim  their  existence.  "  I  have  no  herbs 
for  that,"  and  she  went  back  to  her  cabin  by  the 
ocean. 

That  night  Elena  lifted  her  head  suddenly.  From 
the  hill  opposite  her  window  came  the  sweet  rever- 
beration of  a  guitar :  then  a  voice,  which,  though 
never  heard  by  her  in  song  before,  was  as  unmis- 
takable as  if  it  had  serenaded  beneath  her  window 
every  night  since  she  had  known  Dario  Castanares. 

"  EL  ULTIMO  A  DIGS. 

Si  elks  con  el  alma 
Se  amaron  en  vida 
Y  al  fin  se  separan 
En  vida  las  dos 
Sables  que  es  tan  grande 
Le  pena  sentida 
Que  con  esa  palabra 
Se  dicen  a  Dios. 
Y  en  esa  palabra 
Que  breve  murmura 
Ni  verse  prometen 
Ni  amrase  se  juran 
Que  en  esa  palabra 


THE  CONQUEST  OF  DONA  JACOEA.         191 

Se  dicen  a  Dios. 
No  hay  queja  mas  honda 
Suspiro  mas  largo 
Que  aquellas  palabras 
Que  dicen  a  Dios. 
Al  fin  ha  llegado 
La  muerte  en  la  vida 
Al  fin  para  entranibos 
Muramos  los  dos 
Al  fin  ha  llegado 
La  hora  cumplida 
Del  ultima  a  Dios. 
Ya  nunca  en  la  vida 
Gentil  compafiera 
Yo  nunca  volvamos 
A  vernos  los  dos 
For  eso  es  tan  triste 
Mi  accento  pose 
Por  eso  es  tan  triste 
El  ultimo  a  Dios." 

They  were  dancing  downstairs ;  laughter  floated 
through  the  open  windows.  Francisca  sang  a  song 
of  the  bull-fight  in  her  strong  high  voice ;  the  frogs 
chanted  their  midnight  mass  by  the  creek  in  the 
willows,  the  coyotes  wailed,  the  owls  hooted.  But 
nothing  could  drown  that  message  of  love.  Elena  lit 
a  candle  and  held  it  at  arm's-length  before  the 
window.  She  knew  that  its  ray  went  straight 
through  the  curtains  to  the  singer  on  the  hill,  for 
his  voice  broke  suddenly,  then  swelled  forth  in  pas- 
sionate answer.  He  sat  there  until  dawn  singing  to 
her ;  but  the  next  night  he  did  not  come,  and  Elena 
knew  that  she  had  not  been  his  only  auditor. 


192          THE  CONQUEST  OF  DONA  JACOB  A. 


THE  week  of  festivity  was  over ;  the  bridal  pair, 
the  relatives,  the  guests  went  away.  Quiet  would 
have  taken  temporary  possession  of  Los  Quervos 
had  it  not  been  for  the  many  passing  guests  lavishly 
entertained  by  Don  Roberto. 

And  still  Elena  lay  in  her  little  iron  bed,  refusing 
to  get  out  of  it,  barely  eating,  growing  weaker  and 
thinner  every  day.  At  the  end  of  three  weeks  Doila 
Jacoba  was  thoroughly  alarmed,  and  Don  Roberto 
sent  Joaquin  to  San  Francisco  for  a  physician. 

The  man  of  science  came  at  the  end  of  a  week. 
He  asked  many  questions,  and  had  a  long  talk  with 
his  patient.  When  he  left  the  sick-room,  he  found 
Don  Roberto  and  Dona  Jacoba  awaiting  him  in  the 
library.  They  were  ready  to  accept  his  word  as  law? 
for  he  was  an  Englishman,  and  had  won  high  repu- 
tation during  his  short  stay  in  the  new  country. 

He  spoke  with  curt  directness.  "My  dear  sir, 
your  child  is  dying  because  she  does  not  wish  to 
live.  People  who  write  novels  call  it  dying  of  a 
broken  heart ;  but  it  does  not  make  much  difference 
about  the  name.  Your  child  is  acutely  sensitive, 
and  has  an  extremely  delicate  constitution — pre- 
disposition to  consumption.  Separation  from  the 
young  man  she  desires  to  marry  has  prostrated  her 


THE  CONQUEST  OF  DONA  JACOB  A.         193 

to  such  an  extent  that  she  is  practically  dying. 
Under  existing  circumstances  she  will  not  live  two 
months,  and,  to  be  brutally  frank,  you  will  have 
killed  her.  I  understand  that  the  young  man  is  well- 
born on  his  father's  side,  and  possessed  of  great 
wealth.  I  see  no  reason  why  she  should  not  marry 
him.  I  shall  leave  her  a  tonic,  but  you  can  throw 
it  out  of  the  window  unless  you  send  for  the  young 
man,"  and  he  walked  down  the  stair  and  made 
ready  for  his  departure. 

Don  Roberto  translated  the  verdict  to  his  wife. 
She  turned  very  gray,  and  her  thin  lips  pressed  each 
other.  But  she  bent  her  head.  "  So  be  it,"  she  said ; 
"  I  cannot  do  murder.  Send  for  Dario  Castailares." 

"  And  tell  him  to  take  her  to  perdition,"  roared 
the  old  man.  "  Never  let  me  see  her  again." 

He  went  down  the  stair,  filled  a  small  bag  with 
gold,  and  gave  it  to  the  doctor.  He  found  Joaquin 
and  bade  him  go  for  Dario,  then  shut  himself  in  a 
remote  room,  and  did  not  emerge  until  late  that  day. 

Dona  Jacoba  sent  for  the  maid,  Malia. 

"  Bring  me  one  of  your  frocks,"  she  said,  "  a  set 
of  your  undergarments,  a  pair  of  your  shoes  and 
stockings."  She  walked  about  the  room  until  the 
girl's  return,  her  face  terrible  in  its  repressed  wrath, 
its  gray  consciousness  of  defeat.  When  Malia  came 
with  the  garments  she  told  her  to  follow,  and  went 
into  Elena's  room  and  stood  beside  the  bed. 

"  Get  up,"  she  said.     "  Dress  thyself  in  thy  bridal 
clothes.    Thou  art  going  to  marry  Dario  Castanares 
to-day." 
13 


194         THE  CONQUEST  OF  DONA  JACOBA. 

The  girl  looked  up  incredulously,  then  closed  her 
eyes  wearily. 

"Get  up,"  said  her  mother.  "The  doctor  has 
said  that  we  must  let  our  daughter  marry  the  half- 
breed  or  answer  to  God  for  her  murder."  She 
turned  to  the  maid, .  "  Malia,  go  downstairs  and 
make  a  cup  of  chocolate  and  bring  it  up.  Bring^ 
too,  a  glass  of  angelica." 

But  Elena  needed  neither.  She  forgot  her  desire 
for  death,  her  misgivings  of  the  future ;  hope  gave 
her  strength.  She  slipped  out  of  bed,  and  would 
have  taken  a  pair  of  silk  stockings  from  the  chest, 
but  her  mother  stopped  her  with  an  imperious 
gesture,  and  handed  her  the  coarse  shoes  and  stock- 
ings the  maid  had  brought.  She  raised  her  eyes 
wonderingly,  but  drew  them  on  her  tender  feet 
without  complaint.  Then  her  mother  gave  her  the 
shapeless  under-garments,  the  gaudy  calico  frock, 
and  she  put  them  on.  When  the  maid  returned 
with  the  chocolate  and  wine,  she  drank  both.  They 
gave  her  color  and  renewed  strength ;  and  as  she 
stood  up  and  faced  her  mother,  she  had  never  looked 
more  beautiful  or  more  queenly  in  the  silken  gowns 
that  were  hers  no  longer. 

"There  are  horses'  hoofs,"  said  Dona  Jacoba. 
"  Leave  thy  father's  house  and  go  to  thy  lover." 

Elena  followed  her  from  the  room,  walking 
steadily,  although  she  was  beginning  to  tremble  a 
little.  As  she  passed  the  table  in  the  library,  she 
picked  up  an  old  silk  handkerchief  of  her  father's 
and  tied  it  about  her  head  and  face.  A  smile  was 


THE  CONQUEST  OF  DONA  JACOB  A.         195 

on  her  lips,  but  no  joy  could  crowd  the  sadness  from 
her  eyes  again.  Her  spirit  was  darkened  for  all 
time :  her  nature  had  come  to  its  own. 

They  walked  through  the  silent  house,  and  to 
Elena's  memory  came  the  picture  of  that  other 
bridal,  when  the  very  air  shook  with  pleasure,  and 
the  rooms  were  jeweled  with  beautiful  faces ;  but 
she  would  not  have  exchanged  her  own  nuptials  for 
her  sister's  calm  acceptance. 

When  she  reached  the  veranda  she  drew  herself 
up  and  turned  to  her  mother  with  all  that  strange 
old  woman's  implacable  bearing. 

"  I  demand  one  wedding  present,"  she  said.  "  The 
green-hide  reata.  I  wish  it  as  a  memorial  of  my 
mother." 

Doiia  Jacoba,  without  the  quiver  of  a  muscle, 
walked  into  her  husband's  room  and  returned  with 
the  reata  and  handed  it  to  her.  Then  Elena  turned 
her  back  upon  her  father's  house  and  walked  down  the 
road  through  the  willows.  Dario  did  not  notice  the 
calico  frock  or  the  old  handkerchief  about  her  head. 
He  bent  down  and  caught  her  in  his  arms  and  kissed 
her,  then  lifting  her  to  his  saddle,  galloped  down 
the  road  to  San  Luis  Obispo.  But  Dona  Jacoba 
turned  her  hard  old  face  to  the  wall  and  laid  it 
there. 


A  RAMBLE  WITH  EULOGIA.* 
i. 

DOXA  POMPOSA  crossed  her  hands  on  her  stomach 
and  twirled  her  thumbs.  A  red  spot  was  in  each 
coffee-colored  cheek,  and  the  mole  in  her  scanty  eye- 
brow jerked  ominously.  Her  lips  were  set  in  a  taut 
line,  and  her  angry  little  eyes  were  fixed  upon  a  girl 
who  sat  by  the  window  strumming  a  guitar,  her 
chin  raised  with  an  air  of  placid  indifference. 

"  Thou  wilt  stop  this  nonsense  and  cast  no  more 
glances  at  Juan  Tornel ! "  commanded  Dona  Pom- 
posa.  "  Thou  little  brat !  Dost  thou  think  that  I 
am  one  to  let  my  daughter  marry  before  she  can 
hem  ?  Thank  God  we  have  more  sense  than  our 
mothers  !  No  child  of  mine  shall  marry  at  fifteen. 
Now  listen — thou  shalt  be  locked  in  a  dark  room  if  I 
am  kept  awake  again  by  that  bobo  serenading  at  thy 
window.  To-morrow,  when  thou  goest  to  church, 
take  care  that  thou  throwest  him  no  glance.  God 
of  my  soul  !  I  am  worn  out !  Three  nights  have  I 
been  awakened  by  that  tw-a-n-g,  tw-a-n-g" 

*  Pronounced  "  A-oo-lo-hia." 


198  A  RAMBLE  WITH  EULOGIA. 

"  You  need  not  be  afraid,"  said  her  daughter, 
digging  her  little  heel  into  the  floor.  "  I  shall  not 
fall  in  love.  I  have  no  faith  in  men." 

Her  mother  laughed  outright  in  spite  of  her 
anger. 

"  Indeed,  my  Eulogia !  Thou  art  very  wise.  And, 
why,  pray,  hast  thou  no  faith  in  men  ?  " 

Eulogia  tossed  the  soft  black  braid  from  her 
shoulder,  and  fixed  her  keen,  roguish  eyes  on  the 
old  lady's  face. 

"  Because  I  have  read  all  the  novels  of  the  Senor 
Dumas,  and  I  well  know  all  those  men  he  makes. 
And  they  never  speak  the  truth  to  women  ;  always 
they  are  selfish,  and  think  only  of  their  own  pleas- 
ure. If  the  women  suffer  they  do  not  care;  they 
do  not  love  the  women — only  themselves.  So  I 
am  not  going  to  be  fooled  by  the  men.  I  shall 
enjoy  life  but  I  shall  think  of  myself,  not  of  the 
men." 

Her  mother  gazed  at  her  in  speechless  amazement. 
She  had  never  read  a  book  in  her  life,  and  had 
not  thought  of  locking  from  her  daughter  the  few 
volumes  her  dead  husband  had  collected.  Then  she 
gasped  with  consternation. 

"  Por  Dios,  senorita,  a  fine  woman  thou  wilt  make 
of  thyself  with  such  ideas  !  a  nice  wife  and  mother 
— when  the  time  comes.  What  does  Padre  Flores 
say  to  that,  I  should  like  to  know  ?  It  is  very 
strange  that  he  has  let  you  read  those  books." 

"  I  have  never  told  him,"  said  Eulogia,  indiffer- 
ently. 


A  EAMBLE  WITH  EULOGIA.  199 

"  What !  "  screamed  her  mother.  "  Thou  never 
told  at  confession  ?  " 

"  No,  I  never  did.  It  was  none  of  his  business 
what  I  read.  Reading  is  no  sin.  I  confessed 
all " 

"  Mother  of  God  !  "  cried  Dona  Pomposa,  and  she 
rushed  at  Eulogia  with  uplifted  hand  ;  but  her 
nimble  daughter  dived  under  her  arm  with  a  pro- 
voking laugh,  and  ran  out  of  the  room. 

That  night  Eulogia  pushed  aside  the  white  curtain 
of  her  window  and  looked  out.  The  beautiful,  bare 
hills  encircling  San  Luis  Obispo  were  black  in  the 
silvered  night,  but  the  moon  made  the  town  light 
as  day.  The  owls  were  hooting  on  the  roof  of  the 
Mission ;  Eulogia  could  see  them  flap  their  wings. 
A  few  Indians  were  still  moving  among  the  dark 
huts  outside  the  walls,  and  within,  the  padre  walked 
among  his  olive  trees.  Beyond  the  walls  the  town 
was  still  awake.  Once  a  horseman  dashed  down 
the  street,  and  Eulogia  wondered  if  murder  had 
been  done  in  the  mountains ;  the  bandits  were  thick 
in  their  fastness.  She  did  wish  she  could  see  one. 
Then  she  glanced  eagerly  down  the  road  beneath 
her  window.  In  spite  of  the  wisdom  she  had  ac- 
cepted from  the  French  romanticist,  her  fancy  was 
just  a  little  touched  by  Juan  Tornel.  His  black, 
flashing  eyes  could  look  so  tender,  and  he  rode  so 
beautifully.  She  twitched  the  curtain  into  place 
and  ran  across  the  room,  her  feet  pattering  on 
the  bare  floor.  She  jumped  into  her  little  iron 
bed,  and  drew  the  dainty  sheet  to  her  throat.  A 


200  A  E AMBLE  WITH  EULOGIA. 

ladder  had  fallen  heavily  against  the  side  of  the 
house. 

She  heard  an  agile  form  ascend  and  seat  itself  on 
the  deep  window  sill.  Then  the  guitar  vibrated 
under  the  touch  of  master  fingers,  and  a  rich  sweet 
tenor  sang  to  her  : — 

EL  CORAZOtf. 

El  corazon  del  amor  palpita. 
Al  oir  de  tu  dulce  voz, 
Quando  mi  sangre, 
Se  pone  en  agitacion, 
Tu  eras  la  mas  hermosa, 
Tu  eras  la  luz  del  dia, 
Tu  eras  la  gloria  mia, 
Tu  eras  mi  dulce  bien. 
Negro  tienes  el  cabella, 
Taille  lineas  hermosas, 
Mano  blanca  pie  precioso, 
No  hoy  que  decir  en  ti. 
Tu  eras  la  mas  hermosa, 
Tu  eras  la  luz  del  dia, 
Tu  eras  la  prenda  mia, 
Tu  me  haras  morir. 
Qu'  importa  que  noche  y  dia, 
En  ti  sola  estoy  peusando, 
El  corazon  palpitante 
No  cessa  de  repetir. 
Tu  eras  la  mas  hermosa, 
Tu  eras  la  luz  del  dia, 
Tu  eras  la  prenda  mia, 
Tu  me  haras  morir — Eulogia ! 

Eulogia  lay  as  quiet  as  a  mouse  in  the  daytime, 
not  daring  to  applaud,  hoping  fatigue  had  sent  her 


A  RAMBLE  WITH  EULOGIA.  201 

mother  to  sleep.  Her  lover  tuned  his  guitar  and 
began  another  song,  but  she  did  not  hear  it ;  she  was 
listening  to  footfalls  in  the  garret  above.  With  a 
presentiment  of  what  was  about  to  happen  she 
sprang  out  of  bed  with  a  warning  cry ;  but  she  was 
too  late.  There  was  a  splash  and  rattle  on  the  win- 
dow-seat ;  a  smothered  curse,  a  quick  descent,  a 
triumphant  laugh  from  above.  Eulogia  stamped 
her  foot  with  rage.  She  cautiously  raised  the  win- 
dow and  passed  her  hand  along  the  outer  sill.  This 
time  she  beat  the  casement  with  both  hands :  they 
were  covered  with  warm  ashes. 

"  Well,  my  daughter,  have  I  not  won  the  battle  ?  " 
said  a  voice  behind  her,  and  Eulogia  sat  down  on  the 
window-seat  and  swung  her  feet  in  silent  wrath. 

Dona  Pomposa  wore  a  rather  short  night-gown, 
and  her  feet  were  encased  in  a  pair  of  her  husband's 
old  boots.  Her  hair  was  twisted  under  a  red  silk 
kerchief,  and  again  she  crossed  her  hands  on  her 
stomach,  but  the  thumbs  upheld  a  candle.  Eulogia 
giggled  suddenly. 

"  What  dost  thou  laugh  at,  senorita  ?  At  the 
way  I  have  served  thy  lover  ?  Dost  thou  think  he 
will  come  again  soon  ?" 

"  No,  mamma,  you  have  proved  the  famous  hospi- 
tality of  the  Californians  which  the  Americans  are 
always  talking  about.  You  need  have  no  more  envy 
of  the  magnificence  of  Los  Quervos."  And  then  she 
kicked  her  heels  against  the  wall, 

"  Oh,  thou  canst  make  sharp  speeches,  thou  im- 
pertinent little  brat ;  but  Juan  Tornel  will  serenade 


202  A  EAMBLE  WITH  EULOGIA. 

under  thy  window  no  more.  Dios !  the  ashes 
must  look  well  on  his  pretty  mustachios.  Go  to 
thy  bed.  I  will  put  thee  to  board  in  the  convent  to- 
morrow." And  she  shuffled  out  of  the  room,  her 
ample  figure  swinging  from  side  to  side  like  a  large 
pendulum. 


II. 

THE  next  day  Eulogia  was  sitting  on  her  window- 
seat,  her  chin  resting  on  her  knees,  a  volume  of 
Dumas  beside  her,  when  the  door  was  cautiously 
opened,  and  her  Aunt  Anastacia  entered  the  room. 
Aunt  Anastacia  was  very  large ;  in  fact  she  nearly 
filled  the  doorway ;  she  also  disdained  whalebones 
and  walked  with  a  slight  roll.  Her  ankles  hung 
over  her  feet,  and  her  red  cheeks  and  chin  were  cov- 
ered with  a  short  black  down.  Her  hair  was  twisted 
into  a  tight  knot  and  protected  by  a  thick  net,  and 
she 'wore  a  loose  gown  of  brown  calico,  patterned 
with  large  red  roses.  But  good-nature  beamed  all 
over  her  indefinite  features,  and  her  little  eyes  dwelt 
adoringly  upon  Eulogia,  who  gave  her  an  absent 
smile. 

"  Poor  little  one,"  she  said  in  her  indulgent  voice. 
"  But  it  was  cruel  in  my  sister  to  throw  ashes  on  thy 
lover.  Not  but  what  thou  art  too  young  for  lovers, 
my  darling, — although  I  had  one  at  twelve.  But 
times  have  changed.  My  little  one — I  have  a  note 


A  RAMBLE  WITH  EULOGIA.  203 

for  thee.    Thy  mother  is  out,  and  he  has  gone  away, 

so  there  can  be  no  harm  in  thy  reading  it " 

"  Give  it  to  me  at  once  " — and  Eulogia  dived  into 
her  aunt's  pocket  and  found  the  note. 

"  Beautiful  and  idolized  Eulogia. — Adios  !  Adios  ! 
I  came  a  stranger  to  thy  town.  I  fell  blinded  at  thy 
feet.  I  fly  forever  from  the  scornful  laughter  in 
thine  eyes.  Ay,  Eulogia,  how  couldst  thou  ?  But 
no !  I  will  not  believe  it  was  thou !  The  dimples 
that  play  in  thy  cheeks,  the  sparks  that  fly  in  thine 
eyes — God  of  my  life  !  I  cannot  believe  that  they 
come  from  a  malicious  soul.  No,  enchanting  Eulo- 
gia !  Consolation  of  my  soul !  It  was  thy  mother 
who  so  cruelly  humiliated  me,  who  drives  me  from 
thy  town  lest  I  be  mocked  in  the  streets.  Ay, 
Eulogia  !  Ay,  misericordia !  Adios !  Adios ! 

"JUAN   TOKNEL." 

Eulogia  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "  Well,  my  mo- 
ther is  satisfied,  perhaps.  She  has  driven  him  away. 
At  least,  I  shall  not  have  to  go  to  the  convent." 

"Thou  art  so  cold,  my  little  one,"  said  Aunt 
Anastacia,  disapprovingly.  "Thou  art  but  fifteen 
years,  and  yet  thou  throwest  aside  a  lover  as  if  he 
were  an  old  rebosa.  Mother  of  God !  In  your  place 
I  should  have  wept  and  beaten  the  air.  But  perhaps 
that  is  the  reason  all  the  young  men  are  wild  for 
thee.  Not  but  that  I  had  many  lovers " 

"It  is  too  bad  thou  didst  not  marry  one," 
interrupted  Eulogia,  maliciously.  "  Perhaps  thou 


204  A  RAMBLE  WITH  EULOGIA. 

wouldst " — and  she  picked  up  her  book — "  if  thou 
hadst  read  the  Senor  Dumas." 

"  Thou  heartless  little  baby !  "  cried  her  indignant 
aunt,  "  when  I  love  thee  so,  and  bring  thy  notes  at 
the  risk  of  my  life,  for  thou  knowest  that  thy  mother 
would  pull  the  hair  from  my  head.  Thou  little 
brat !  to  say  I  could  not  marry,  when  I  had  twen- 
ty- 

Eulogia  jumped  up  and  pecked  her  on  the  chin 
like  a  bird.  "  Twenty-five,  my  old  mountain.  I  only 
joked  with  thee.  Thou  didst  not  marry  because 
thou  hadst  more  sense  than  to  trot  about  after  a 
man.  Is  it  not  so,  my  old  sack  of  flour  ?  I  was  but 
angry  because  I  thought  thou  hadst  helped  my 
mother  last  night." 

"  Never !    I  was  sound  asleep." 

"  I  know,  I  know.  Now  trot  away.  I  hear  my 
mother  coming,"  and  Aunt  Anastacia  obediently  left 
her  niece  to  the  more  congenial  company  of  the 
Seiior  Dumas. 


III. 

THE  steep  hills  of  San  Luis  Obispo  shot  upward 
like  the  sloping  sides  of  a  well,  so  round  was  the 
town.  Scarlet  patches  lay  on  the  slopes — the  wide 
blossoms  of  the  low  cacti.  A  gray-green  peak 
and  a  mulberry  peak  towered,  kithless  and  gaunt,  in 
the  circle  of  tan-colored  hills  brushed  with  purple. 


A  RAMBLE  WITH  EULOGIA.  205 

The  garden  of  the  Mission  was  green  with  fruit 
trees  and  silver  with  olive  groves.  On  the  white 
church  and  long  wing  lay  the  red  tiles  ;  beyond  the 
wall  the  dull  earth  huts  of  the  Indians.  Then  the 
straggling  town  with  its  white  adobe  houses  crouch- 
ing on  the  grass. 

Eulogia  was  sixteen.  A  year  had  passed  since  Juan 
Tornel  serenaded  beneath  her  window,  and,  if  the 
truth  must  be  told,  she  had  almost  forgotten  him. 
Many  a  glance  had  she  shot  over  her  prayer-book  in 
the  Mission  Church  ;  many  a  pair  of  eyes,  dreamy 
and  fiery,  had  responded.  But  she  had  spoken  with 
no  man.  After  a  tempestuous  scene  with  her 
mother,  during  which  Aunt  Anastacia  had  wept  pro- 
fusely, a  compromise  had  been  made  :  Eulogia  had 
agreed  to  have  no  more  flirtations  until  she  was  six- 
teen, but  at  that  age  she  should  go  to  balls  and  have 
as  many  lovers  as  she  pleased. 

She  walked  through  the  olive  groves  with  Padre 
Moraga  on  the  morning  of  her  sixteenth  birthday. 
The  new  padre  and  she  were  the  best  of  friends. 

"  Well,"  said  the  good  old  man,  pushing  the  long 
white  hair  from  his  dark  face — it  fell  forward  when- 
ever he  stooped — "  well,  my  little  one,  thou  goest  to 
thy  first  ball  to-night.  Art  thou  happy  ?  " 

Eulogia  lifted  her  shoulder.  Her  small  nose  also 
tilted. 

"  Happy  ?  There  is  no  such  thing  as  happiness, 
my  father !  I  shall  dance,  and  flirt,  and  make  all 
the  young  men  fall  in  love  with  me.  I  shall  enjoy 
myself,  that  is  enough." 


206  A  B AMBLE  WITH  EULOGIA. 

The  padre  smiled ;  he  was  used  to  her. 

"  Thou  little  wise  one ! "  He  collected  himself 
suddenly.  "  But  thou  art  right  to  build  thy  hopes 
of  happiness  on  the  next  world  alone."  Then  he 
continued,  as  if  he  had  merely  broken  the  conversa- 
tion to  say  the  Angelus,  "  And  thou  art  sure  that 
thou  wilt  be  la  favor ita?  Truly  thou  hast  confi- 
dence in  thyself — an  inexperienced  chit  who  has  not 
half  the  beauty  of  many  other  girls." 

"  Perhaps  not ;  but  the  men  shall  love  me  better 
all  the  same.  Beauty  is  not  everything,  my  father. 
I  have  a  greater  attraction  than  soft  eyes  and  a 
pretty  mouth." 

"  Indeed !  Thou  baby !  Why,  thou  art  no  bigger 
than  a  well-grown  child,  and  thy  mouth  was  made 
for  a  woman  twice  thy  size.  Where  dost  thou  keep 
that  extraordinary  charm  ?"  Not  but  that  he  knew, 
for  he  liked  her  better  than  any  girl  in  the  town, 
but  he  felt  it  his  duty  to  act  the  part  of  curb-bit  now 
and  again. 

"  You  know,  my  father,"  said  Eulogia,  coolly ; 
"  and  if  you  have  any  doubt  wait  until  to-mor- 
row." 

The  ball  was  given  in  the  long  sala  of  Dona  Anto- 
nia  Ampudia,  on  the  edge  of  the  rambling  town.  As 
the  night  was  warm,  the  young  people  danced 
through  the  low  windows  on  to  the  wide  corri- 
dor; and,  if  watchful  eyes  relaxed  their  vigilance, 
stepped  off  to  the  grass  and  wandered  among  the 
trees.  The  brown  old  women  in  dark  silks  sat  against 
the  wall  as  dowagers  do  to-day.  Most  of  the  girls 


A  RAMBLE  WITH  EULOGIA.  207 

wore  bright  red  or  yellow  gowns,  although  softer 
tints  blossomed  here  and  there.  Silky  black  hair  was 
braided  close  to  the  neck,  the  coiffure  finished  with 
a  fringe  of  chenille.  As  they  whirled  in  the  dance, 
their  full  bright  gowns  looked  like  an  agitated 
flower-bed  suddenly  possessed  by  a  wandering 
tribe  of  dusky  goddesses. 

Eulogia  came  rather  late.  At  the  last  moment 
her  mother  had  wavered  in  her  part  of  the  contract, 
and  it  was  not  until  Eulogia  had  sworn  by  every 
saint  in  the  calendar  that  she  would  not  leave  the 
sala,  even  though  she  stifled,  that/Dona  Pomposa 
had  reluctantly  consented  to  take  her.  Eulogia's 
perfect  little  figure  was  clad  in  a  prim  white  silk 
gown ;  but  her  cold,  brilliant  eyes  were  like  living 
jewels;  her  large  mouth  was  red  as  the  cactus 
patches  on  the  hills,  and  a  flame  burned  in  either 
cheek.  In  a  moment  she  was  surrounded  by  the 
young  men  who  had  been  waiting  for  her.  It  might 
be  true  that  twenty  girls  in  the  room  were  more 
beautiful  than  she,  but  she  had  a  quiet  manner  more 
effective  than  animation,  a  vigorous  magnetism  of 
which  she  was  fully  aware,  and  a  cool  coquetry 
which  piqued  and  fired  the  young  men  who  were 
used  to  more  sentimental  flirtations. 

She  danced  as  airily  as  a  flower  on  the  wind,  but 
with  untiring  vitality. 

"  Senorita  !  "  exclaimed  Don  Carmelo  Pena,  "  thou 
takest  away  my  breath.  Dost  thou  never  weary  ?  " 

"  Never.    I  am  not  a  man." 

"  Ay,  senorita,  thou  meanest " 


208  A  RAMBLE  WITH  EULOGIA. 

"  That  women  were  made  to  make  the  world  go 
round,  and  men  to  play  the  guitar." 

"  Ah,  I  can  play  the  guitar.  I  will  serenade  thee 
to-morrow  night." 

"  Thou  wilt  get  a  shower  of  ashes  for  thy  pains. 
Better  stay  at  home,  and  prepare  thy  soul  with  three- 
card  monte." 

"  Ay,  senorita,  but  thou  art  cruel !  Does  no  man 
please  thee  ?  " 

"  Men  please  me.  How  tiresome  to  dance  with  a 
woman!" 

"  And  that  is  all  the  use  thou  hast  for  us  ?  For 
us  who  would  die  for  thee  ?  " 

"  In  a  barrel  of  aguardiente  ?  I  prefer  thee  to 
dance  with.  To  tell  the  truth,  thy  step  suits 
mine." 

"  Ay,  senorita  mia  /  thou  canst  put  honey  on  thy 
tongue.  God  of  my  life,  senorita — I  fling  my  heart 
at  thy  feet !  " 

"  I  fear  to  break  it,  senor,  for  I  have  faith  that  it 
is  made  of  thin  glass.  It  would  cut  my  feet.  I  like 
better  this  smooth  floor.  Who  is  that  standing  by 
the  window  ?  He  has  not  danced  to-night  ?  " 

"  Don  Pablo  Ignestria  of  Monterey.  He  says  the 
women  of  San  Luis  are  not  half  so  beautiful  or  so 
elegant  as  the  women  of  Monterey ;  he  says  they  are 
too  dark  and  too  small.  He  does  not  wish  to  dance 
with  any  one ;  nor  do  any  of  the  girls  wish  to  dance 
with  him.  They  are  very  angry." 

"  I  wish  to  dance  with  him.    Bring  him  to  me." 

"  But,  senorita,  I  tell  thee  thou  wouldst  not  like 


A  RAMBLE  Wl*TH  ftULOGlA.  209 

him.  Holy  Heaven !  Why  do  those  eyes  flash  so  ? 
Thou  lookest  as  if  thou  wouldst  fight  with  thy  little 
fists." 

"  Bring  him  to  me." 

Don  Carmelo  walked  obediently  over  to  Don 
X'ablo,  although  burning  with  jealousy. 

"  Seilor,  at  your  service,"  he  said.  "  I  wish  to  in. 
troduce  you  to  the  most  charming  senorita  in  the 
room." 

"  Which  ?  "  asked  Ignestria,  incuriously. 

Don  Carmelo  indicated  Eulogia  with  a  grand 
sweep  of  his  hand. 

"  That  little  thing  ?  Why,  there  are  a  dozen 
prettier  girls  in  the  room  than  she,  and  I  have  not 
cared  to  meet  any  of  them  ! " 

"  But  she  has  commanded  me  to  take  you  to  her, 
seiior,  and — look  at  the  men  crowding  about  her — 
do  you  think  I  dare  disobey  ?  " 

The  stranger's  dark  gray  eyes  became  less.insen- 
sible.  He  was  a  handsome  man,  with  tall  figure  and 
smooth,  strong  face ;  but  about  him  hung  the  indo- 
lence of  the  Californian. 

"  Very  well,"  he  said,  "  take  me  to  her." 

He  asked  her  to  dance,  and  after  a  waltz,  Eulogia 
said  she  was  tired,  and  they  sat  down  within  a 
proper  distance  of  Dona  Pomposa's  eagle  eye. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  the  women  of  San  Luis 
Obispo  ?  "  asked  Eulogia,  innocently.  "  Are  not  they 
handsome  ?  " 

"  They  are  not  to  be  compared  with  the  womeu  of 
Monterey — since  you  ask  me." 
14 


210  A  RAMBLE  WITH  EULOGIA. 

"  Because  they  find  the  men  of  San  Luis  more 
gallant  than  the  Senor  Don  Pablo  Ignestria ! " 

"  Do  they  ?  One,  I  believe,  asked  to  have  me  in' 
troduced  to  her ! " 

"  True,  senor.  I  wished  to  meet  you  that  you 
might  fall  in  love  with  me,  and  that  the  ladies  of 
San  Luis  might  have  their  vengeance." 

He  stared  at  her. 

"  Truly,  senorita,  but  you  do  not  hide  your  cards. 
And  why,  then,  should  I  fall  in  love  with  you  ?  " 

"Because  I  am  different  from  the  women  of 
Monterey." 

"  A  good  reason  why  I  should  not.  I  have  been 
in  every  town  in  California,  and  I  admire  no  women 
but  those  of  my  city." 

"  And  because  you  will  hate  me  first." 

"  And  if  I  hate  you  how  can  I  love  you  ?  " 

"  It  is  the  same.  You  hate  one  woman  and  love 
another.  Each  is  the  same  passion,  only  to  a  dif- 
ferent person  out  goes  a  different  side.  Let  the  per- 
son loved  or  hated  change  his  nature,  and  the  pas- 
sion will  change." 

He  looked  at  her  with  more  interest. 

"  In  truth  I  think  I  shall  begin  with  love  and  end 
with  hate,  senorita.  But  that  wisdom  was  not 
born  in  your  little  head,  for  sixteen  years,  I  think, 
have  not  sped  over  it,  no  ?  It  went  in,  if  I  mistake 
not,  through  those  bright  eyes." 

"  Yes,  senor,  that  is  true.  I  am  not  content  to  be 
just  like  other  girls  of  sixteen.  I  want  to  know — to 
know.  Have  you  ever  read  any  books,  senor  ?" 


A  RAMBLE  WITH  EULOGIi.  211 

"Many."  He  looked  at  her  with  a  very  lively 
interest  now.  "  What  ones  have  you  read  ?  " 

"  Only  the  beautiful  romances  of  the  Senor  Dumas. 
I  have  seen  no  others,  for  there  are  not  many  books 
in  San  Luis.  Have  you  read  others  ?  " 

"  A  great  many  others.  Two  wonderful  Spanish 
books — '  Don  Quixote  de  la  Mancha '  and  *  Gil  Bias,' 
and  the  romances  of  Sir  Waltere  Scote — a  man  of 
England,  and  some  lives  of  famous  men,  seiiorita. 
A  great  man  lent  them  to  me — the  greatest  of  our 
Governors — Alvarado." 

"  And  you  will  lend  them  to  me  ?  "  cried  Eulogia, 
forgetting  her  coquetry,  "  I  want  to  read  them." 

"  Aha  !  Those  cool  eyes  can  flash.  That  even 
little  voice  can  break  in  two.  By  the  holy  Evangel- 
ists, seiiorita,  thou  shalt  have  every  book  I  possess." 

"  Will  the  Senorita  Doiia  Eulogia  favor  us  with  a 
song?" 

Don  Carmelo  was  bowing  before  her,  a  guitar  in 
his  hand,  his  wrathful  eyes  fixed  upon  Don  Pablo. 

"  Yes,"  said  Eulogia. 

She  took  the  guitar  and  sang  a  love  song  in  a 
manner  which  can  best  be  described  as  no  manner 
at  all;  her  expression  never  changed,  her  voice 
never  warmed.  At  first  the  effect  was  flat,  then  the 
subtle  fascination  of  it  grew  until  the  very  memory 
of  impassioned  tones  seemed  florid  and  surfeiting. 
When  she  finished,  Tgnestria's  heart  was  hammering 
upon  the  steel  in  which  he  had  prisoned  it. 


212  A  RAMBLE  WITH  EULOGIA. 


IV. 

"  WELL,"  said  Eulogia  to  Padre  Moraga  two  weeks 
later,  "am  I  not  lafavorita?" 

"Thou  art,  thou  little  coquette.  Thou  hast  a 
power  over  men  which  thou  must  use  with  discre- 
tion, my  Eulogia.  Tell  thy  beads  three  times  a  day 
and  pray  that  thou  mayest  do  no  harm." 

"I  wish  to  do  harm,  my  father,  for  men  have 
broken  the  hearts  of  women  for  ages " 

"  Chut,  chut,  thou  baby !  Men  are  not  so  black  as 
they  are  painted.  Harm  no  one,  and  the  world  will 
be  better  that  thou  hast  lived  in  it." 

"If  I  scratch,  fewer  women  will  be  scratched," 
and  she  raised  her  shoulders  beneath  the  flowered 
muslin  of  her  gown,  swung  her  guitar  under  her 
arm,  and  walked  down  the  grove,  the  silver  leaves 
shining  above  her  smoken  hair. 

The  padre  had  bidden  all  the  young  people  of  the 
upper  class  to  a  picnic  in  the  old  Mission  garden. 
Girls  in  gay  muslins  and  silk  rebosas  were  sitting 
beneath  the  arches  of  the  corridor  or  flitting  under 
the  trees  where  the  yellow  apricots  hung  among  the 
green  leaves.  Languid  and  sparkling  faces  coquet- 
ted with  caballeros  in  bright  calico  jacket  and  knee- 
breeches  laced  with  silken  cord,  their  slender  waist 
girt  with  long  sashe  hanging  gracefully  over  the 
hip.  The  water  rilled  in  the  winding  creek,  the 


A  RAMBLE  WITH  EULOGIA.  213 

birds  caroled  in  the  trees ;  but  above  all  rose  the 
sound  of  light  laughter  and  sweet  strong  voices. 

They  took  their  dinner  behind  the  arches,  at  a 
table  the  length  of  the  corridor,  and  two  of  the  young 
men  played  the  guitar  and  sang,  whilst  the  others 
delighted  their  keen  palates  with  the  goods  the 
padre  had  provided. 

Don  Pablo  sat  by  Eulogia,  a  place  he  very  often 
managed  to  fill;  but  he  never  had  seen  her  for  a 
moment  alone. 

"  I  must  go  soon,  Eulogia,"  he  murmured,  as  the 
voices  waxed  louder.  "Duty  calls  me  back  to 
Monterey." 

"  I  am  glad  to  know  thou  hast  a  sense  of  thy 
duty." 

"  Nothing  but  that  would  take  me  away  from  San 
Luis  Obispo.  But  both  my  mother  and — and — a 
dear  friend  are  ill,  and  wish  to  see  me." 

"  Thou  must  go  to-night.  How  canst  thou  eat  and 
be  gay  when  thy  mother  and— and — a  dear  friend 
are  ill?" 

"  Ay,  Eulogia !  wouldst  thou  scoff  over  my  grave  ? 
I  go,  but  it  is  for  thee  to  say  if  I  return." 

"  Do  not  tell  me  that  thou  adorest  me  here  at  the 
table.  I  shall  blush,  and  all  will  be  about  my  smart- 
ing ears  like  the  bees  down  in  the  padre's  hive." 

"I  shall  not  tell  thee  that  before  all  the  world, 
Eulogia.  All  I  ask  is  this  little  favor :  I  shall  send 
thee  a  letter  the  night  I  leave.  Promise  me  that 
thou  wilt  answer  it — to  Monterey." 

"  No,  sir !    Long  ago,  when  I  was  twelve,  I  made 


214  A  RAMBLE  WITH  EULOGIA. 

a  vow  I  would  never  write  to  a  man.  I  never  break 
that  vow." 

"  Thou  wilt  break  it  for  me,  Eulogia." 

"  And  why  for  you,  senor  ?  Half  the  trouble  in 
the  world  has  been  made  on  paper." 

"Oh,  thou  wise  one !  What  trouble  can  a  piece 
of  paper  make  when  it  lies  on  a  man's  heart  ? " 

"  It  can  crackle  when  another  head  lies  on  it. " 

"  No  head  will  ever  lie  here  but " 

"Mine?" 

"  Eulogia ! " 

"  To  thee,  Senorita  Dona  Eulogia,"  cried  a  deep 
voice.  "  May  the  jewels  in  thine  eyes  shine  by  the 
stars  when  thou  art  above  them.  May  the  tears 
never  dim  them  while  they  shine  for  us  below,"  and 
a  caballero  pushed  back  his  chair,  leaned  forward, 
and  touched  her  glass  with  his,  then  went  down  on 
one  knee  and  drank  the  red  wine. 

Eulogia  threw  him  a  little  absent  smile,  sipped 
her  wine,  and  went  on  talking  to  Ignestria  in  her 
soft  monotonous  voice. 

"  My  friend — Graciosa  La  Cruz — went  a  few  weeks 
ago  to  Monterey  for  a  visit.  You  will  tell  her  I 
think  of  her,  no  ?  " 

"  I  will  dance  with  her  often  because  she  is  your 
friend — until  I  return  to  San  Luis  Obispo." 

"  Will  that  be  soon,  senor  ?  " 

"  I  told  thee  that  would  be  as  soon  as  thou  wished. 
Thou  wilt  answer  my  letter — promise  me,  Eulogia." 

"  I  will  not,  senor.  I  intend  to  be  wiser  than 
other  women.  At  the  very  least  my  follies  shall 


A  RAMBLE  WITH  EULOGIA.  215 

not  burn  paper.  If  thou  wantest  an  answer  thou 
wilt  return." 

"  I  will  not  return  without  that  answer.  I  never 
can  see  thee  alone,  and  if  I  could,  thy  coquetry  would 
not  give  me  a  plain  answer.  I  must  see  it  on  paper 
before  I  will  believe." 

"  Thou  canst  wait  for  the  day  of  resurrection  for 
thy  knowledge  then  !  " 


V. 

ONCE  more  Aunt  Anastacia  rolled  her  large  figure 
through  Eulogia's  doorway  and  handed  her  a  letter. 

"  From  Don  Pablo  Ignestria,  my  baby,"  she  said. 
"  Oh,  what  a  man !  what  a  caballero !  And  so  smart. 
He  waited  an  hour  by  the  creek  in  the  Mission 
Gardens  until  he  saw  thy  mother  go  out,  and  then 
he  brought  the  note  to  me.  He  begged  to  see  thee, 
but  I  dared  not  grant  that,  ninita,  for  thy  mother 
will  be  back  in  ten  minutes." 

"Go  downstairs  and  keep  my  mother  there," 
commanded  Eulogia,  and  Aunt  Anastacia  rolled  off, 
whilst  her  niece  with  unwonted  nervousness  opened 
the  letter. 

"  Sweet  of  my  soul !  Day-star  of  my  life !  I  dare 
not  speak  to  thee  of  love  because,  strong  man  as  I 
am,  still  am  I  a  coward  before  those  mocking  eyes. 


216  A  RAMBLE  WITH  EULOGIA. 

Therefore  if  thou  laugh  the  first  time  them  readest 
that  I  love  thee,  I  shall  not  see  it,  and  the  second 
time  thou  mayest  be  more  kind.  Beautiful  and 
idolized  Eulogia,  men  have  loved  thee,  but  never 
will  be  cast  at  thy  little  feet  a  heart  stronger  or 
truer  than  mine.  Ay,  duefio  adorado !  I  love  thee  ! 
Without  hope  ?  No !  I  believe  that  thou  lovest  me, 
thou  cold  little  one,  although  thou  dost  not  like  to 
think  that  the  heart  thou  hast  sealed  can  open  to 
let  love  in.  But,  Eulogia !  Star  of  my  eyes  !  I  love 
thee  so  I  will  break  that  heart  in  pieces,  and  give 
thee  another  so  soft  and  warm  that  it  will  beat  all 
through  the  old  house  to  which  I  will  take  thee. 
For  thou  wilt  come  to  me,  thou  little  coquette? 
Thou  wilt  write  to  me  to  come  back  and  stand  with 
thee  in  the  Mission  while  the  good  padre  asks  the 
saints  to  bless  us  ?  Eulogia,  thou  hast  sworn  thou 
wilt  write  to  no  man,  but  thou  wilt  write  to  me,  my 
little  one.  Thou  wilt  not  break  the  heart  that  lives 
in  thine. 

"  I  kiss  thy  little  feet.  I  kiss  thy  tiny  hands.  I 
kiss — Ay,  Eulogia !  Adios  !  Adios !  PABLO." 

Eulogia  could  not  resist  that  letter.  Her  scruples 
vanished,  and,  after  an  entire  day  of  agonized  com- 
position, she  sent  these  lines  : — 

You  can  come  back  to  San  Luis  Obispo, 
Eulogia  Amata  Francisca  Guadalupe  Carillo. 


A  RAMBLE  WITH  EULOGIA.  217 


VI 

ANOTHER  year  had  passed.  No  answer  had  come 
from  Pablo  Ignestria.  Nor  had  he  returned  to  San 
Luis  Obispo.  Two  months  after  Eulogia  had  sent 
her  letter,  she  received  one  from  Graciosa  La  Cruz, 
containing  the  information  that  Ignestria  had  mar- 
ried the  invalid  girl  whose  love  for  him  had  been 
the  talk  of  Monterey  for  many  years.  And  Eulogia  ? 
Her  flirtations  had  earned  her  far  and  wide  the  title 
of  Dona  Coquetta,  and  she  was  cooler,  calmer,  and 
more  audacious  than  ever. 

"  Dost  thou  never  intend  to  marry  ?  "  demanded 
Dona  Pomposa  one  day,  as  she  stood  over  the  kitch- 
en stove  stirring  red  peppers  into  a  saucepan  full 
of  lard. 

Eulogia  was  sitting  on  the  table  swinging  her 
small  feet.  "  Why  do  you  wish  me  to  marry  ?  I 
am  well  enough  as  I  am.  Was  Elena  Castanares  so 
happy  with  the  man  who  was  mad  for  her  that 
I  should  hasten  to  be  a  neglected  wife  ?  Poor  my 
Elena !  Four  years,  and  then  consumption  and 
death.  Three  children  and  an  indifferent  husband, 
who  was  dying  of  love  when  he  could  not  get 
her." 

"  Thou  thinkest  of  unhappy  marriages  because 
thou  hast  just  heard  of  Elena's  death.  But  there 
are  many  others." 


218  A  RAMBLE  WITH  EULOG1A. 

"  Did  you  hear  of  the  present  she  left  her  mother  ?  " 

"No."  Dona  Pomposa  dropped  her  spoon;  she 
dearly  loved  a  hit  of  gossip.  "  What  was  it  ?  " 

"  You  know  that  a  year  ago  Elena  went  home  to 
Los  Quervos  and  begged  Don  Roberto  and  Dona 
Jacoba  on  her  knees  to  forgive  her,  and  they  did, 
and  were  glad  to  do  it.  Dona  Jacoba  was  with  her 
when  she  was  so  ill  at  the  last,  and  just  before  she 
died,  Elena  said,  '  Mother,  in  that  chest  you  will 
find  a  legacy  from  me.  It  is  all  of  my  own  that  I 
have  in  the  world,  and  I  leave  it  to  you.  Do  not 
take  it  until  I  am  dead.'  And  what  do  you  think  it 
was  ?  The  greenhide  reata." 

"  Mother  of  God !  But  Jacoba  must  have  felt  as 
if  she  were  already  in  purgatory." 

"  It  is  said  that  she  grew  ten  years  older  in  the 
night." 

"  May  the  saints  be  praised,  my  child  can  leave 
me  no  such  gift.  But  all  men  are  not  like  Dario 
Castanares.  I  would  have  thee  marry  an  American. 
They  are  smart  and  know  how  to  keep  the  gold. 
Remember,  I  have  little  now,  and  thou  canst  not  be 
young  forever." 

"  I  have  seen  no  American  I  would  marry." 

"  There  is  Don  Abel  Hudson." 

"  I  do  not  trust  that  man.  His  tongue  is  sweet 
and  his  face  is  handsome,  but  always  when  I  meet 
him  I  feel  a  little  afraid,  although  it  goes  away  in  a 
minute.  The  Senor  Dumas  says  that  a  woman's 
instincts " 

"  To  perdition  with  Senor  Dumas !    Does  he  say 


A  RAMBLE  WITH  EULOGIA.  219 

that  a  chit's  instincts  are  better  than  her  mother's  ? 
Don  Abel  throws  about  the  money  like  rocks.  He 
has  the  best  horses  at  the  races.  He  tells  me  that 
he  has  a  house  in  Yerba  Buena " 

"  San  Francisco*  And  I  would  not  live  in  that 
bleak  and  sandy  waste.  Did  you  notice  how  he 
limped  at  the  ball  last  night  ?  " 

"  No.  What  of  that  ?  But  I  am  not  in  love  with 
Don  Abel  Hudson  if  thou  art  so  set  against  him.  It 
is  true  that  no  one  knows  just  who  he  is,  now  I 
think  of  it.  I  had  not  made  up  my  mind  that  he 
was  the  husband  for  thee.  But  let  it  be  an  Amer- 
ican, my  Eulogia,  Even  when  they  have  no  money 
they  will  work  for  it,  and  that  is  what  no  Californian 
Will  do " 

But  Eulogia  had  run  out  of  the  room :  she  rarely 
listened  to  the  end  of  her  mother's  harangues.  She 
draped  a  rebosa  about  her  head,  and  went  over  to 
the  house  of  Graciosa  La  Cruz.  Her  friend  was  sit- 
ting by  her  bedroom  window,  trimming  a  yellow 
satin  bed-spread  with  lace,  and  Eulogia  took  up  a 
half-finished  sheet  and  began  fastening  the  drawn 
threads  into  an  intricate  pattern. 

"Only  ten  days  more,  my  Graciosa,"  she  said, 
mischievously.  "  Art  thou  going  to  run  back  to  thy 
mother  in  thy  night-gown,  like  Josefita  Olvera  ?  " 

"  Never  will  I  be  such  a  fool !  Eulogia,  I  have  a 
husband  for  thee." 

"  To  the  tunnel  of  the  Mission  with  husbands !  I 
shall  be  an  old  maid  like  Aunt  Anastacia,  fat,  with 
black  whiskers," 


220  A  RAMBLE  WITH  EULOG1A. 

Graciosa  laughed.  "Thou  wilt  marry  and  have 
ten  children." 

"  By  every  station  in  the  Mission  I  will  not.  Why 
bring  more  women  into  the  world  to  suffer  ?  " 

"  Ay,  Eulogia !  thou  art  always  saying  things  I 
cannot  understand  and  that  thou  shouldst  not  think 
about.  But  I  have  a  husband  for  thee.  He  came 
from  Los  Angeles  this  morning,  and  is  a  friend  of 
my  Carlos.  His  name  is  not  so  pretty — Tomas 
Garflas.  There  he  rides  now." 

Eulogia  looked  out  of  the  window  with  little 
curiosity.  A  small  young  man  was  riding  down  the 
street  on  a  superb  horse  colored  like  golden  bronze, 
with  silveren  mane  and  tail.  His  saddle  of  em  bossed 
leather  was  heavily  mounted  with  silver ;  the  spurs 
were  inlaid  with  gold  and  silver,  and  the  straps  of 
the  latter  were  worked  with  gleaming  metal  threads. 
He  were  a  light-red  serape,  heavily  embroidered  and 
fringed.  His  botas  of  soft  deer-skin,  dyed  a  rich 
green  and  stamped  with  Aztec  eagles,  were  tied  at 
the  knee  by  a  white  silk  cord  wound  about  the  leg 
and  finished  with  heavy  silver  tassels.  His  short 
breeches  were  trimmed  with  gold  lace.  As  he  caught 
Graciosa's  eye  he  raised  his  sombrero,  then  rode 
through  the  open  door  of  a  neighboring  saloon  and 
tossed  off  an  American  drink  without  dismounting 
from  his  horse. 

Eulogia  lifted  her  shoulders.    "  I  like  his  saddle 

and  his  horse,  but  he  is  too  small.    Still,  a  new 

man  is  not  disagreeable.    When  shall  I  meet  him  ?  " 

41  To-night,  my  Eulogia,     He  goes   with  us  to 

Miramar." 


A  RAMBLE  WITH  EULOGIA.  221 


VII. 

A  PAETY  of  young  people  started  that  night  for  a 
ball  at  Miramar,  the  home  of  Don  Polycarpo  Quijas. 
Many  a  caballero  had  asked  the  lady  of  his  choice  to 
ride  on  his  saddle  while  he  rode  on  the  less  comfort- 
able auquera  behind,  and  guided  his  horse  with  arm 
as  near  her  waist  as  he  dared.  Doila  Pomposa,  with 
a  small  brood  under  her  wing,  started  last  of  all  in 
an  American  wagon.  The  night  was  calm,  the  moon 
was  high,  the  party  very  gay. 

Abel  Hudson  and  the  new-comer,  Don  Tomas 
Garfias,  sat  on  either  side  of  Eulogia,  and  she  amused 
herself  at  the  expense  of  both. 

"  Don  Tomas  says  that  he  is  handsomer  than  the 
men  of  San  Luis,"  she  said  to  Hudson.  "  Do  not 
you  think  he  is  right?  See  what  a  beautiful  curl 
his  mustachios  have,  and  what  a  droop  his  eyelids. 
Holy  Mary  ! — how  that  yellow  ribbon  becomes  his 
hair !  Ay,  senor !  Why  have  you  come  to  dazzle 
the  eyes  of  the  poor  girls  of  San  Luis  Obispo  ?  " 

"  Ah,  senorita,"  said  the  little  dandy,  "  it  will  do 
their  eyes  good  to  see  an  elegant  young  man  from 
the  city.  And  they  should  see  my  sister.  She 
would  teach  them  how  to  dress  and  arrange  their 
hair." 

"  Bring  her  to  teach  us,  senor,  and  for  reward  we 
will  find  her  a  tall  and  modest  husband  such  as  the 


222  A  EAMBLE  WITH  EULOGIA. 

girls  of  San  Luis  Obispo  admire.  Don  Abel,  why 
do  you  not  boast  of  your  sisters  ?  Have  you  none, 
nor  mother,  nor  father,  nor  brother  ?  I  never  hear 
you  speak  of  them.  Maybe  you  grow  alone  out  of 
the  earth." 

Hudson's  gaze  wandered  to  the  canon  they  were 
approaching.  "  I  am  alone,  senorita ;  a  lonely  man 
in  a  strange  land." 

"  Is  that  the  reason  why  you  are  such  a  traveler, 
senor  ?  Are  you  never  afraid,  in  your  long,  lonely 
rides  over  the  mountains,  of  that  dreadful  bandit — 
John  Power,  who  murders  whole  families  for  the 
sack  of  gold  they  have  under  the  floor  ?  I  hope  you 
always  carry  plenty  of  pistols,  senor." 

"  True,  dear  senorita.  It  is  kind  of  you  to  put 
me  on  my  guard.  I  had  never  thought  of  this 
man." 

"  This  devil,  you  mean.  When  last  night  I  saw 
you  come  limping  into  the  room " 

"  Ay,  yi,  yi,  Dios  !  "  "  Maria !  "  "  Dios  de  mi 
alma ! "  "  Dios  de  mi  vida !  "  «  Cielo  Santo  !  " 

A  wheel  had  given  way,  and  the  party  was  scat- 
tered about  the  road. 

No  one  was  hurt,  but  loud  were  the  lamentations. 
No  Californian  had  ever  walked  six  miles,  and  the 
wheel  was  past  repair.  But  Abel  Hudson  came  to 
the  rescue. 

"  Leave  it  to  me,"  he  said.  "  I  pledge  myself  to 
get  you  there,"  and  he  went  off  in  the  direction  of  a 
ranch  house. 

"  Ay !  the  good  American !    The  good  American !  " 


A  RAMBLE  WITH  EULOGIA.  223 

cried  the  girls.  "Eulogia!  how  canst  thou  be  so 
cold  to  him  ?  The  handsome  stranger  with  the  kind 
heart ! " 

"  His  heart  is  like  the  Sacramento  Valley,  veined 
with  gold  instead  of  blood.  Holy  Mary  !  "  she 
cried  some  moments  later,  "  what  is  he  bringing  ? 
The  wagon  of  the  country ! " 

Abel  Hudson  was  standing  erect  on  the  low  floor 
of  a  wagon  drawn  by  two  strong,  black  mules.  The 
wagon  was  a  clumsy  affair — a  large  wooden  frame 
covered  with  raw-hide,  and  set  upon  a  heavy  axle. 
The  wheels  were  made  of  solid  sections  of  trees,  and 
the  harness  of  green-hide.  An  Indian  boy  sat  astride 
one  of  the  mules.  On  either  side  rode  a  vaquero, 
with  his  reata  fastened  to  the  axle-tree. 

"  This  is  the  best  I  can  do,"  said  Hudson.  "  There 
is  probably  not  another  American  wagon  between 
San  Luis  and  Miramar.  Do  you  think  you  can  stand 
it?" 

The  girls  shrugged  their  pretty  shoulders.  The 
men  swove  into  their  moustachios.  Dona  Pomposa 
groaned  at  the  prospect  of  a  long  ride  in  a  springless 
wagon.  But  no  one  was  willing  to  return,  and  when 
Eulogia  jumped  lightly  in  all  followed,  and  Hudson 
placed  them  as  comfortably  as  possible,  although 
they  were  obliged  to  sit  on  the  floor. 

The  wagon  jolted  down  the  canon,  the  mules 
plunging,  the  vaqueros  shouting ;  but  the  moon  glit- 
tered like  a  silvered  snow  peak ;  the  wild  green  forest 
was  about  them,  and  even  Eulogia  grew  a  little 
sentimental  as  Abel  Hudson's  blue  eyes  bent  over 


224  A  GAMBLE  WITH  EULOG1A. 

hers,  and  his  curly  head  cut  off  Dona  Pomposa's 
view. 

"  Dear  senorita,"  he  said,  "  thy  tongue  is  very 
sharp,  but  thou  hast  a  kind  heart.  Hast  thou  no 
place  in  it  for  Abel  Hudson  ?  " 

"In  the  sala,  senor — where  many  others  are  re- 
ceived— with  mamma  and  Aunt  Anastacia  sitting  in 
the  corner." 

He  laughed.  "Thou  wilt  always  jest!  But  I 
would  take  all  the  rooms,  and  turn  every  one  out, 
even  to  Doila  Pomposa  and  Doiia  Anastacia !  " 

"  And  leave  me  alone  with  thee !  God  of  my  soul ! 
How  I  should  yawn !  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  Dona  Coquetta,  I  am  used  to  such  pretty 
little  speeches.  When  thou  began  to  yawn  I  should 
ride  away,  and  thou  wouldst  be  glad  to  see  me  when 
I  returned." 

"  What  wouldst  thou  bring  me  from  the  mount- 
ains, senor  ?  " 

He  looked  at  her  steadily.  "Gold,  senorita.  I 
know  of  many  rich  veins.  I  have  a  little  caiion  sus- 
pected by  no  one  else,  where  I  pick  out  a  sack  full  oi 
gold  in  a  day.  Gold  makes  the  life  of  a  beloved  wife 
very  sweet,  senorita." 

"  In  truth  I  should  like  the  gold  better  than  thy- 
self, senor,"  said  Eulogia,  frankly.  "For  if  thou 
wilt  have  the  truth — Ay  !  Holy  Heaven  !  This  is 
worse  than  the  other ! " 

A  lurch,  splash,  and  the  party  with  shrill  cries 
sprang  to  their  feet ;  the  low  cart  was  filling  witt 
water.  They  had  left  the  caiion  and  were  crossing 


A  RAMBLE  WITH  EULOGIA.  225 

a  slough  ;  no  one  had  remembered  that  it  would  be 
high  tide.  The  girls,  without  an  instant's  hesitation, 
whipped  their  gown  up  around  their  neck  ;  but 
their  feet  were  wet,  and  their  skirts  draggled.  They 
made  light  of  it,  however,  as  they  did  of  everything, 
and  drove  up  to  Miramar  amidst  high  laughter  and 
rattling  jests. 

Dona  Luisa  Quijas,  a  handsome,  shrewd-looking 
woman,  magnificently  gowned  in  yellow  satin,  the 
glare  and  sparkle  of  jewels  on  her  neck,  came  out 
upon  the  corridor  to  meet  them. 

"  What  is  this  ?  In  a  wagon  of  the  country !  An 
accident  ?  Ay,  God  of  my  life,  the  slough  !  Come 
in — quick!  quick!  I  will  give  you  dry  clothes. 
Trust  these  girls  to  take  care  of  their  gowns.  Mary  ! 
What  wet  feet !  Quick !  quick  !  This  way,  or  you 
will  have  red  noses  to-morrow,"  and  she  led  them 
down  the  corridor,  past  the  windows  through  which 
they  could  see  the  dancers  in  the  sala,  and  opened 
the  door  of  her  bedroom. 

"There,  my  children,  help  yourselves,"  and  she 
pulled  out  the  capacious  drawers  of  her  chest.  "  All 
is  at  your  service."  She  lifted  out  an  armful  of  dry 
underclothing,  then  went  to  the  door  of  an  adjoining 
room  and  listened,  her  hand  uplifted. 

"  Didst  thou  have  to  lock  him  up  ?  "  asked  Dona 
Pomposa,  as  she  drew  on  a  pair  of  Dona  Luisa's  silk 
stockings. 

"  Yes  !  yes !  And  such  a  time,  my  friend !  Thou 
knowest  that  after  I  fooled  him  the  last  time  he 
swore  I  should  never  have  another  ball.  But,  God 
15 


226  RAMBLE  WITH  EiTLOGtA. 

of  my  life !  I  was  never  meant  to  be  bothered  with 
a  husband,  and  have  I  not  given  him  three  children 
twenty  times  handsomer  than  himself?  Is  not  that 
enough  ?  By  the  soul  of  Saint  Luis  the  Bishop,  I 
will  continue  to  promise,  and  then  get  absolution  at 
the  Mission,  but  I  will  not  perform !  Well,  he  was 
furious,  my  friend ;  he  had  spent  a  sack  of  gold  on 
that  ball,  and  he  swore  I  should  never  have  another. 
So  this  time  I  invited  my  guests,  and  told  him  noth- 
ing. At  seven  to-night  I  persuaded  him  into  his 
room  and  locked  the  door.  But,  mother  of  God! 
Diego  had  forgotten  to  screw  down  the  window,  and 
he  got  out.  I  could  not  get  him  back,  Pomposa,  and 
his  big  nose  was  purple  with  rage.  He  swore  that 
he  would  turn  every  guest  away  from  the  door,  he 
swore  that  he  would  be  taking  a  bath  on  the  corridor 
when  they  came  up,  and  throw  insults  in  their  faces. 
Ay,  Pomposa!  I  went  down  on  my  knees.  I  thought 
I  should  not  have  my  ball — such  cakes  as  I  had 
made,  and  such  salads  !  But  Diego  saved  me.  He 
went  into  Don  Polycarpo's  room  and  cried 'Fire!' 
Of  course  the  old  man  ran  there,  and  then  we  locked 
him  in.  Diego  had  screwed  down  the  window  first. 
God  of  my  soul,  but  he  is  terrible,  that  man !  What 
have  I  done  to  be  punished  with  him  ?" 

"  Thou  art  too  handsome  and  too  cruel,  my  Luisa. 
But,  in  truth,  he  is  an  old  wild-cat.  The  saints  be 
praised  that  he  is  safe  for  the  night.  Did  he  swear  ?  " 

"  Swear !  He  has  cursed  the  skin  off  his  throat 
and  is  quiet  now.  Come,  my  little  ones,  art  thou 
ready  ?  The  caballeros  are  dry  in  Diego's  clothes  by 


A  RAMBLE  WITH  EULOGIA.  227 

this  time,  and  waiting  for  their  waltzes; "and she 
drove  them  through  the  door  into  the  sala  with  a 
triumphant  smile  on  her  dark,  sparkling  face. 

The  rest  of  the  party  had  been  dancing  for  an 
hour,  and  all  gathered  about  the  girls  to  hear  the 
story  of  the  accident,  which  was  told  with  six  differ- 
ent variations.  Eulogia  as  usual  was  craved  for 
dances,  but  she  capriciously  divided  her  favors  be- 
tween Abel  Hudson  and  Don  Tomas  Garfias.  Dur- 
ing the  intervals,  when  the  musicians  were  silent 
and  the  girls  played  the  guitar  or  threw  cascarones 
at  their  admirers,  she  sat  in  the  deep  window-seat 
watching  the  ponderous  waves  of  the  Pacific  hurl 
themselves  against  the  cliffs,  whilst  Hudson  pressed 
close  to  her  side,  disregarding  the  insistance  of  Gar- 
fias. Finally,  the  little  Don  from  the  City  of  the 
Angels  went  into  the  dining-room  to  get  a  glass  of 
angelica,  and  Hudson  caught  at  his  chance. 

"  Senorita,"  he  exclaimed,  interrupting  one  of  her 
desultory  remarks,  "  for  a  year  I  have  loved  you,  and, 
for  many  reasons,  I  have  not  dared  to  tell  you.  I 
must  tell  you  now — I  can  keep  it  back  no  longer.  I 
have  no  reason  to  think  you  care  more  for  me  than 
for  a  dozen  other  men,  but  if  you  will  marry  me, 
seiiorita,  I  will  build  you  a  beautiful  American  house 
in  San  Luis  Obispo,  and  you  can  then  be  with  your 
friends  when  business  calls  me  away." 

"And  where  will  you  live  when  you  are  away 
from  me  ?  "  asked  Eulogia,  carelessly.  "  In  a  cave  in 
the  mountains?  Be  careful  of  the  bandits." 

"  Senorita,"  he  replied,  calmly,  "  I  do  not  know 


228  A  RAMBLE  WITH  EULOGIA. 

what  you  mean  by  the  things  you  say  sometimes. 
Perhaps  you  have  the  idea  that  I  am  another  per- 
son— John  Power,  or  Pio  Lenares,  for  instance.    Do 
you  wish  me  to  bring  you  a  certificate  to  the  effect 
that  I  am  Abel  Hudson  ?    I  can  do  so,  although  I 
thought  that  Californians  disdained  the  written  form 
and  trusted  to  each  other's  honor,  even  to  the  sell- 
ing of  cattle  and  lands." 
"  You  are  not  a  Californian." 
"  Ah,  senorita !— God !  what  is  that  ?  " 
A  tremendous  knocking  at  the  outer  door  sounded 
above  the  clear  soprano  of  Graciosa  La  Cruz. 

"  A  late  guest,  no  doubt.  You  are  white  like  the 
wall.  I  think  the  low  ceilings  are  not  so  good  for 
your  health,  senor,  as  the  sharp  air  of  the  mount- 
ains. Ay,  Dios ! "  The  last  words  came  beneath 
her  breath,  and  she  forgot  Abel  Hudson.  The  front 
doors  had  been  thrown  open,  and  a  caballero  in  rid- 
ing-boots and  a  dark  serape  wound  about  his  tall 
figure  had  entered  the  room  and  flung  his  sombrero 
and  saddle-bags  into  a  corner.  It  was  Pablo  Ignes- 
tria. 

"  At  your  feet,  seiiora,"  he  said  to  Dona  Luisa,  who 
held  out  both  hands,  welcome  on  her  charming  face. 
"  I  am  an  uninvited  guest,  but  when  I  arrived  at 
San  Luis  and  found  that  all  the  town  had  come  to 
one  of  Dona  Luisa' s  famous  balls,  I  rode  on,  hoping 
that  for  friendship's  sake  she  would  open  her 
hospitable  doors  to  a  wanderer  and  let  him  dance 
off  the  stiffness  of  a  long  ride." 

"  You  are  welcome,  welcome,  Pablo,"  said  Doiia 


A  RAMBLE  WITH  EtfLOGlA.  229 

Luisa.  "  Go  to  the  dining-room  and  get  a  glass  of 
aguardiente ;  then  come  back  and  dance  until  dawn." 

Ignestria  left  the  room  with  Diego  Qui  j  as,  but  re- 
turned in  a  few  moments  and  walked  directly  over 
to  Eulogia,  ignoring  the  men  who  stood  about  her. 

"  Give  me  this  dance,"  he  whispered,  eagerly.  "  I 
have  something  to  say  to  thee.  I  have  purposely 
come  from  Monterey  to  say  it." 

Eulogia  was  looking  at  him  with  angry  eyes,  her 
brain  on  fire.  But  curiosity  triumphed,  and  she  put 
her  hand  on  his  shoulder  as  the  musicians  swept  their 
guitars  with  lithe  fingers,  scraped  their  violins,  and 
began  the  waltz. 

"  Eulogia !  "  exclaimed  Ignestria  ;  "  dost  thou  sus- 
pect why  I  have  returned  ?  " 

"  Why  should  I  suspect  what  I  have  not  thought 
about?" 

"  Ay,  Eulogia  !  Art  thou  as  saucy  as  ever  ?  But 
I  will  tell  thee,  beloved  one.  The  poor  girl  who  bore 
my  name  is  dead,  and  I  have  come  to  beg  an  answer 
to  my  letter.  Ay,  little  one,  I  feel  thy  love.  Why 
couldst  thou  not  have  sent  me  one  word  ?  I  was  so 
angry  when  passed  week  after  week  and  no  answer 
came,  that  in  a  fit  of  spleen  I  married  the  poor  sick 
girl.  And  what  I  suffered,  Eulogia,  after  that  mad 
act!  Long  ago  I  told  myself  that  I  should  have 
come  back  for  my  answer,  that  you  had  sworn  you 
would  write  no  letter ;  I  should  have  let  you  have 
your  little  caprices,  but  I  did  not  reason  until — — " 

"  I  answered  your  letter ! "  exclaimed  Eulogia, 
furiously.  "  Thou  knowest  that  I  answered  it ! 


230  A  RAMBLE  WITH  EULOGIA. 

Thou  only  wished  to  humble  me  because  I  had  sworn 
I  would  write  to  no  man.  Traitor !  I  hate  thee ! 
Thou  wert  engaged  to  the  girl  all  the  time  thou  wert 
here." 

"  Eulogia !    Believe !    Believe  !  " 

"  I  would  not  believe  thee  if  thou  kissed  the  Cross  ! 
Thou  said  to  thyself,  'That  little  coquette,  I  will 
teach  her  a  lesson.  To  think  the  little  chit  should 
fancy  an  elegant  Monterefio  could  fall  in  love  with 
her ! '  Ah !  ha !  Oh,  Dios !  I  hate  thee,  thou  false 
man-of- the- world !  Thou  art  the  very  picture  of 
the  men  I  have  read  about  in  the  books  of  the  Senor 
Dumas ;  and  yet  I  was  fooled  by  thy  first  love-word! 
But  I  never  loved  thee.  Never,  never !  It  was  only 
a  fancy — because  thou  wert  from  Monterey.  I  am 
glad  thou  didst  not  get  my  letter,  for  I  hate  thee ! 
Mother  of  Christ !  I  hate  thee ! " 

He  whirled  her  into  the  dining-room.  No  one  else 
was  there.  He  kissed  her  full  on  the  mouth. 

"  Dost  thou  believe  me  now  ?  "  he  asked. 

She  raised  her  little  hand  and  struck  him  on  the 
face,  but  the  sting  was  not  hotter  than  her  lips  had 
been. 

"  May  the  saints  roll  thee  in  perdition  !  "  she  cried, 
hoarsely.  "  May  they  thrust  burning  coals  into  the 
eyes  that  lied  to  me !  May  the  devils  bite  off  the 
fingers  that  made  me  shame  myself  !  God !  God  ! 
How  I  hate  thee !  I,  I,  who  have  fooled  so  many 
men — to  have  been  rolled  in  the  dust  by  thee  !  " 

He  drew  back  and  regarded  her  sadly. 
1     "  I  see  that  it  is  no  use  to  try  to  convince  thee," 


A  RAMBLE  WITH  EULOGIA.  231 

he  said ;  "  and  I  have  no  proof  to  show  that  I  never 
received  thy  letter.  But  while  the  stars  jewel  the 
heavens,  Eulogia,  I  shall  love  thee  and  believe  that 
thoii  lovest  me." 

He  opened  the  door  and  she  swept  past  him  into 
the  salon.  Abel  Hudson  stepped  forward  to  offer 
his  arm,  and  for  the  moment  Pablo  forgot  Eulogia. 

"  John  Power ! "  he  cried. 

Hudson,  with  an  oath,  leaped  backward,  sprang 
upon  the  window-seat,  and  smashing  the  pane  with 
his  powerful  hand  disappeared  before  the  startled 
men  thought  of  stopping  him. 

"  Catch  him !  catch  him ! "  cried  Ignestria,  ex- 
citedly. "  It  is  John  Power.  He  stood  me  up  a  year 
ago." 

He  whipped  his  pistol  from  the  saddle-bags  in 
the  corner,  and  opening  the  door  ran  down  the  road, 
followed  by  the  other  men  shouting  and  firing  their 
pistols  into  the  air.  But  they  were  too  late.  Power 
had  sprung  upon  Ignestria's  horse,  and  was  far  on 
his  way. 


VII. 

THE  next  day  Eulogia  went  with  ner  mother  and 
Aunt  Anastacia  to  pay  a  visit  of  sympathy  to  Dona 
Jacoba  at  Los  Quervos.  Eulogia's  eyes  were  not  so 
bright  nor  her  lips  so  red  as  they  had  been  the  night 
before,  and  she  had  little  to  say  as  the  wagon  jolted 


232  A  RAMBLE  WITH  EULOGIA. 

over  the  rough  road,  past  the  cypress  fences,  then 
down  between  the  beautiful  tinted  hills  of  Los  Quer- 
vos.  Doiia  Pomposa  sat  forward  on  the  high  seat, 
her  feet  dangling  just  above  the  floor,  her  hands 
crossed  as  usual  over  her  stomach,  a  sudden  twirl  of 
thumbs  punctuating  her  remarks.  She  wore  a  loose 
black  gown  trimmed  with  ruffles,  and  a  black  rebosa 
about  her  head.  Aunt  Anastacia  was  attired  in  a 
like  manner,  but  clutched  the  side  of  the  wagon  with 
one  hand  and  an  American  sunshade  in  the  other. 

"  Poor  Jacoba !  "  exclaimed  Doiia  Pomposa ;  "  her 
stern  heart  is  heavy  this  day.  But  she  has  such  a 
sense  of  her  duty,  Anastacia.  Only  that  makes  her 
so  stern." 

"  O-h-h-h,  y-e-e-s."  When  Aunt  Anastacia  was 
preoccupied  or  excited,  these  words  came  from  her 
with  a  prolonged  outgoing  and  indrawirig. 

"  I  must  ask  her  for  the  recipe  for  those  cakes — 
the  lard  ones,  Anastacia.  I  have  lost  it." 

"O-h-h,  y-e-e-s.  I  love  those  cakes.  Mother  of 
God!  It  is  hot!" 

"  I  wonder  will  she  give  Eulogia  a  mantilla  when 
the  chit  marries.  She  has  a  chest  full." 

"  Sure.    Jacoba  is  generous." 

"  Poor  my  friend  !  Ay,  her  heart Holy  Mary  ! 

What  is  that?" 

She  and  Aunt  Anastacia  stumbled  to  their  feet. 
The  sound  of  pistol  shots  was  echoing  between  the 
hills.  Smoke  was  rising  from  the  willow  forest  that 
covered  the  center  of  the  valley. 

The  Indian  whipped  up  his  horses  with  an  excited 


A  RAMBLE  WITH  EULOGIA.  233 

grunt,  the  two  old  women  reeling  and  clutching 
wildly  at  each  other.  At  the  same  time  they  no- 
ticed a  crowd  of  horsemen  galloping  along  a  hill 
which  a  sudden  turn  in  the  road  had  opened  to  view. 

"  It  is  the  Vigilantes,"  said  Eulogia,  calmly,  from 
the  front  seat.  "They  are  after  John  Power  and 
Pio  Lenares  and  their  lieutenants.  After  that  awful 
murder  in  the  mountains  the  other  day,  the  men  of 
San  Luis  and  the  ranches  swore  they  would  hunt 
them  out,  and  this  morning  they  traced  them  to  Los 
Quervos.  I  suppose  they  have  made  a  barricade  in 
the  willows,  and  the  Vigilantes  are  trying  to  fire 
them  out." 

"  Heart  of  Saint  Peter !  Thou  little  brat !  Why 
didst  thou  not  tell  us  of  this  before,  and  not  let  us 
come  here  to  be  shot  by  flying  bullets  ?  " 

"  I  forgot,"  said  Eulogia,  indifferently. 

They  could  see  nothing ;  but  curiosity,  in  spite 
of  fear,  held  them  to  the  spot.  Smoke  and  cries, 
shouts  and  curses  came  from  the  willows  ;  flocks  of 
agitated  crows  circled  screaming  through  the  smoke ; 
and  the  men  on  the  hill,  their  polished  horses  and 
brilliant  attire  flashing  in  the  sun,  kept  up  a  ceaseless 
galloping,  hallooing,  and  waving  of  sombreros.  The 
beautiful  earth-green  and  golden  hills  looked  upon 
a  far  different  scene  from  the  gay  cavalcades  to 
which  they  were  accustomed.  Even  Don  Roberto 
Duncan,  a  black  silk  handkerchief  knotted  about 
his  head,  was  dashing,  on  his  gray  horse,  up  and 
down  the  valley  between  the  hills  and  the  willows, 
regardless  of  chance  bullets.  And  over  all  shone 


234  A  E  AMBLE  WITH  EULOG1A. 

the  same  old  sun,  alike  indifferent  to  slaughter  and 
pleasure. 

"  Sure,  Anastacia,  all  those  bullets  must  shoot 
some  one." 

"  O — h — h,  y — e — e — s."  Her  sister  was  grasping 
the  sunshade  with  both  hands,  her  eyes  starting  from 
her  head,  although  she  never  removed  their  gaze  from 
the  central  volume  of  smoke. 

"  Ay,  we  can  sleep  in  peace  if  those  murdering 
bandits  are  killed ! "  exclaimed  Doiia  Pomposa.  "  I 
have  said  a  rosary  every  night  for  five  years  that 
they  might  be  taken.  And,  holy  Heaven  !  To  think 
that  we  have  been  petting  the  worst  of  them  as  if  he 
were  General  Castro  or  Juan  Alvarado.  To  think, 
my  Eulogia !  That  thirsty  wild-cat  has  had  his  arm 
about  thy  waist  more  times  than  I  can  count." 

"  He  danced  very  well — aha !  " 

Aunt  Anastacia  gurgled  like  an  idiot.  Doiia  Pom- 
posa gave  a  terrific  shriek,  which  Eulogia  cut  in  two 
with  her  hand.  A  man  had  crawled  out  of  the  brush 
near  them.  His  face  was  black  with  powder,  one 
arm  hung,  limp,  at  his  side.  Doiia  Pomposa  half 
raised  her  arm  to  signal  the  men  on  the  hill,  but  her 
daughter  gave  it  such  a  pinch  that  she  fell  back  on 
the  seat,  faint  for  a  moment. 

"  Let  him  go,"  said  Eulogia.  "  Do  you  want  to 
see  a  man  cut  in  pieces  before  your  eyes?  You 
would  have  to  say  rosaries  for  the  rest  of  your  life." 
She  leaned  over  the  side  of  the  wagon  and  spoke  to 
the  dazed  man,  whose  courage  seemed  to  have  de- 
serted him, 


A  RAMBLE  WITH  EULOGIA.  235 

"  Don  Abel  Hudson,  thou  dost  not  look  so  gallant 
as  at  the  ball  last  night,  but  thou  helped  us  to  get 
there,  and  I  will  save  thee  now.  Get  into  the 
wagon,  and  take  care  thou  crawlest  in  like  a  snake 
that  thou  mayest  not  be  seen." 

"No — no ! "  cried  the  two  older  women,  but  in  truth 
they  were  too  terrified  not  to  submit.  Power  swung 
himself  mechanically  over  the  wheel,  and  lay  on  the 
floor  of  the  wagon.  Eulogia,  in  spite  of  a  protesting 
whimper  from  Aunt  Anastacia,  loosened  that  good 
dame's  ample  outer  skirt  and  threw  it  over  the 
fallen  bandit.  Then  the  faithful  Benito  turned  his 
horse  and  drove  as  rapidly  toward  the  town  as  the 
rough  roads  would  permit.  They  had  barely  started 
when  they  heard  a  great  shouting  behind  them, 
and  turned  in  apprehension,  whilst  the  man  on  the 
floor  groaned  aloud  in  his  fear.  But  the  Vigilantes 
rode  by  them  unsuspecting.  Across  their  saddles 
they  carried  the  blackened  and  dripping  bodies  of 
Lenares  and  his  lieutenants ;  through  the  willows 
galloped  the  caballeros  in  search  of  John  Power. 
But  they  did  not  find  him,  then  or  after.  Dona 
Pomposa  hid  him  in  her  woodhouse  until  midnight, 
when  he  stole  away  and  was  never  seen  near  San 
Luis  again.  A  few  years  later  came  the  word  that 
he  had  been  assassinated  by  one  of  his  lieutenants  in 
Lower  California,  and  his  body  eaten  by  wild  hogs. 


236  A  RAMBLE  WITH  EULOGIA. 


VIII. 

Al  contado  plasentero, 
Del  primer  beso  de  amor, 
Un  fuego  devorador 
Que  en  mi  pecho  siento  ardor. 

Y'  no  me  vuelvas  a  besar 
For  que  me  quema  tu  aliento 
Ya  desfayeserme  siento 
Mas  enbriagada  de  amor. 

Si  acuantas  estimas,  das 
Beso  en  pruevas  de  amor. 
Si  me  amas  hasme  el  favor 
De  no  besarme  jamas. 

A  CABALLERO  on  a  prancing  horse  sang  beneath 
Eulogia's  window,  his  jingling  spurs  keeping  time 
to  the  tinkling  of  his  guitar.  Eulogia  turned  over 
in  bed,  pulling  the  sheets  above  her  ears,  and  went 
to  sleep. 

The  next  day  when  Don  Tomas  Garfias  asked  her 
hand  of  her  mother,  Dona  Coquetta  accepted  him 
with  a  shrug  of  her  shoulders. 

"  And  thou  lovest  me,  Eulogia  ? "  murmured  the 
enraptured  little  dandy  as  Dona  Pomposa  and  Aunt 
Anastacia  good-naturedly  discussed  the  composition 
of  American  pies. 

"No." 

"  Ay!  senorita!  Why  then  dost  thou  marry  me? 
No  one  compels  thee," 


A  RAMBLE  WITH  EULOGIA.  237 

"It  pleases  me.  What  affair  of  thine  are  my 
reasons  if  I  consent  to  marry  thee  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Eulogia,  I  believe  thou  loyest  me  !  Why 
not  ?  Many  pretty  girls  have  done  so  before  thee. 
Thou  only  wishest  to  tease  me  a  little." 

"  Well ;  do  not  let  me  see  too  much  of  thee  before 
the  wedding  day,  or  I  may  send  thee  back  to  those 
who  admire  thee  more  than  I  do." 

"  Perhaps  it  is  well  that  I  go  to  San  Francisco  to 
remain  three  months,"  said  the  young  man,  sulkily  ; 
he  had  too  much  vanity  to  be  enraged.  "  Wilt  thou 
marry  me  as  soon  as  I  return  ?" 

"  As  well  then  as  any  other  time." 

Garfias  left  San  Luis  a  few  days  later  to  attend  to 
important  business  in  San  Francisco,  arid  although 
Dona  Pomposa  and  Aunt  Anastacia  began  at  once 
to  make  the  wedding  outfit,  Eulogia  appeared  to 
forget  that  she  had  ever  given  a  promise  of  marriage. 
She  was  as  great  a  belle  as  ever,  for  no  one  believed 
that  she  would  keep  faith  with  any  man,  much  less 
with  such  a  ridiculous  scrap  as  Garfias.  Her  flirta- 
tions were  more  calmly  audacious  than  ever,  her 
dancing  more  spirited ;  in  every  frolic  she  was  the 
leader. 

Suddenly  Dona  Pomposa  was  smitten  with  rheu- 
matism. She  groaned  by  night  and  shouted  by 
day.  Eulogia,  whose  patience  was  not  great,  or- 
ganized a  camping  party  to  the  sulphur  springs 
of  the  great  rancho,  Paso  desRobles.  The  young 
people  went  on  horseback  ;  Dona  Pomposa  and  Aunt 
Anastacia  in  the  wagon  with  the  tents  and  other 


238  A  RAMBLE  WITH  EULOGIA. 

camping  necessities.  Groans  and  shrieks  mingled 
with  the  careless  laughter  of  girls  and  caballeros, 
who  looked  upon  rehumatism  as  the  inevitable 
sister  of  old  age  ;  but  when  they  entered  the  park- 
like  valley  after  the  ride  over  the  beautiful  Chrome 
Mountains,  Dona  Pomposa  declared  that  the  keen, 
dry  air  had  already  benefited  her. 

That  evening,  when  the  girls  left  their  tents, 
hearts  fluttered,  and  gay  muslin  frocks  waved  like 
agitated  banners.  Several  Americans  were  pitching 
their  tents  by  the  spring.  They  proved  to  be  a 
party  of  mining  engineers  from  San  Francisco,  and 
although  there  was  only  one  young  man  among 
them,  the  greater  was  the  excitement.  Many  of  the 
girls  were  beautiful,  with  their  long  braids  and  soft 
eyes,  but  Eulogia,  in  her  yellow  gown,  flashed  about 
like  a  succession  of  meteors  as  the  Americans  drew 
near  and  proffered  their  services  to  Dona  Pomposa. 

The  young  man  introduced  himself  as  Charles 
Rogers.  He  was  a  good-looking  little  fellow,  in  the 
lighter  American  style.  His  well-attired  figure  was 
slim  and  active,  his  shrewd  eyes  blue,  his  mouse- 
colored  hair  short  and  very  straight.  After  a  few 
moments'  critical  survey  of  the  charming  faces  be- 
hind Dona  Pomposa,  he  went  off  among  the  trees, 
and  returning  with  a  bunch  of  wild  flowers,  walked 
straight  over  to  Eulogia,  and  handed  them  to  her. 

She  gave  him  a  roguish  little  courtesy.  "Much 
thanks,  senor.  You  must  scuse  my  English;  I 
no  spik  often.  The  Americanos  no  care  for  the 
flores?" 


A  RAMBLE  WITS  EULOGIA.  239 

"  I  like  them  well  enough,  but  I  hope  you  will 
accept  these." 

"  Si,  senor."  She  put  them  in  her  belt.  "  You 
like  California?" 

"Very  much.  It  is  full  of  gold,  and,  I  should 
say,  excellent  for  agriculture." 

"  But  it  no  is  beautiful  country  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  it  does  very  well,  and  the  climate  is 
pretty  fair  in  some  parts." 

"  You  living  in  San  Francisco  ?  " 

"  I  am  a  mining  engineer,  and  we  have  got  hold 
of  a  good  thing  near  here." 

"The  mine — it  is  yours?" 

"  Only  a  part  of  it." 

"  The  Americanos  make  all  the  money  now." 

"  The  gold  was  put  here  for  some  one  to  take  out. 
You  Californians  had  things  all  your  own  way  for 
a  hundred  years,  but  you  let  it  stay  there." 

"  Tell  me  how  you  take  it  out." 

He  entered  into  a  detailed  and  somewhat  technical 
description,  but  her  quick  mind  grasped  the  mean- 
ing of  unfamiliar  words. 

"  You  like  make  the  money  ?  "  she  asked  after  he 
had  finished. 

"  Of  course.  What  else  is  a  man  made  for  ?  Life 
is  a  pretty  small  affair  without  money." 

"  We  no  have  much  now,  but  we  live  very  happy. 
The  Americanos  love  the  money  though.  Alway  I 
see  that." 

"  Americans  have  sense." 

He  devoted  himself  to  her  during  the  ten  days  of 


240  A  RAMBLE  WITH  EULOGIA. 

their  stay,  and  his  business  shrewdness  and  matter- 
of-fact  conversation  attracted  the  keen-witted  girl, 
satiated  with  sighs  and  serenades.  Always  eager 
for  knowledge,  she  learned  much  from  him  of  the 
Eastern  world.  She  did  not  waste  a  glance  on  her 
reproachful  caballeros,  but  held  long,  practical  con- 
versations with  Rogers  under  the  mending  wing 
of  Dona  Pomposa,  who  approved  of  the  stranger, 
having  ascertained  his  abilities  and  prospects  from 
the  older  men  of  his  party. 

On  the  morning  of  their  return  to  San  Luis 
Obispo,  Rogers  and  Eulogia  were  standing  some- 
what apart,  whilst  the  vaqueros  rounded  up  the 
horses  that  had  strayed  at  will  through  the  valley. 
Rogers  plucked  one  of  the  purple  autumn  lilies  and 
handed  it  to  her. 

"  Senorita,"  he  said,  "  suppose  you  marry  me.  It 
is  a  good  thing  for  a  man  to  be  married  in  a  wild 
country  like  this :  he  is  not  so  apt  to  gamble  and 
drink.  And  although  I've  seen  a  good  many  pretty 
girls,  I've  seen  no  one  so  likely  to  keep  me  at  home 
in  the  evening  as  yourself.  What  do  you  say  ?" 

Eulogia  laughed.    His  wooing  interested  her. 

"  I  promise  marry  another  man ;  not  I  think  much 
I  ever  go  to  do  it." 

"  Well,  let  him  go,  and  marry  me." 

"  I  no  think  I  like  you  much  better.  But  I  spose 
I  must  get  marry  some  day.  Here  my  mother  come. 
Ask  her.  I  do  what  she  want." 

Dona  Pomposa  was  trotting  toward  them,  and 
while  she  struggled  for  her  lost  breath  Eulogia 


A  RAMBLE  WITH  EULOGIA.  241 

repeated  the  proposal  of  the  American,  twanging 
her  guitar  the  while. 

The  old  lady  took  but  one  moment  to  make  up 
her  mind.  "The  American,"  she  said  rapidly  in 
Spanish.  "  Garfias  is  rich  now,  but  in  a  few  years 
the  Americans  will  have  everything.  Garfias  will 
be  poor ;  this  man  will  be  rich.  Marry  the  Ameri- 
can," and  she  beamed  upon  Rogers. 

Eulogia  shrugged  her  shoulders,  and  turned  to 
her  practical  wooer. 

"  My  mother  she  say  she  like  you  the  best." 

"  Then  I  may  look  upon  that  little  transaction  as 
settled?" 

"  Si  you  like  it." 

"  Which  art  thou  going  to  marry,  Eulogia?" 
asked  one  of  the  girls  that  night  as  they  rode  down 
the  mountain. 

"  Neither,"  said  Eulogia,  serenely. 


IX. 

EULOGIA  had  just  passed  through  an  animated 
interview  with  her  mother.  Dona  Pomposa  had 
stormed  and  Eulogia  had  made  an  occasional  reply 
in  her  cool,  monotonous  voice,  her  gaze  absently 
fixed  on  the  gardens  of  the  Mission. 

"  Thou  wicked  little  coquette ! "  cried  Dona  Pom- 
posa, her  voice  almost  worn  out.  "Thou  darest 
16 


242  A  PAMBLE  WITH  ETTLOGIA. 

repeat  to  me  that  thou  wilt  not  marry  the  Senor 
Rogers." 

"  I  will  not.  It  was  amusing  to  be  engaged  to 
him  for  a  time,  but  now  I  am  tired.  You  can  give 
him  what  excuse  you  like,  but  tell  him  to  go." 

"And  the  clothes  I  have  made — the  chests  of 
linen  with  the  beautiful  deshalados  that  nearly  put 
out  Aunt  Anastacia's  eyes !  The  new  silk  gowns  ? 
God  of  my  life !  The  magnificent  bedspread  with 
the  lace  as  deep  as  my  hand ! " 

"They  will  keep  until  I  do  marry.  Besides,  I 
need  some  new  clothes." 

"  Dost  thou  indeed,  thou  little  brat !  Thou  shalt 
not  put  on  a  smock  or  a  gown  in  that  chest  if  thou 
goest  naked !  But  thou  shalt  marry  him,  I  say ! " 

"No." 

"  Oh,  thou  ice-hearted  little  devil ! "  Even  Dona 
Pomposa's  stomach  was  trembling  with  rage,  and 
her  fingers  were  jumping.  "  Whom  then  wilt  thou 
marry?  Garfias?" 

"No." 

"  Thou  wilt  be  an  old  maid  like  Aunt  Anastacia." 

"  Perhaps." 

«  o— h— h !— Who  is  this  ?" 

A  stranger  in  traveling  serape  and  riding-boots 
had  dashed  up  to  the  house,  and  flung  himself  from 
his  horse.  He  knocked  loudly  on  the  open  door, 
then  entered  without  waiting  for  an  invitation,  and 
made  a  deep  reverence  to  Dona  Pomposa. 

"At  your  service,  senora.  At  your  service, 
seiiorita.  I  come  from  the  Senor  Don  Tomas  Gar- 


A  RAMBLE  WITH  ETJLOGIA.  243 

fias.  Word  has  reached  him  that  the  Senorita 
Eulogia  is  about  to  marry  an  American.  I  humbly 
ask  you  to  tell  me  if  this  be  true  or  not.  I  have 
been  told  in  town  that  the  wedding  is  set  for  the  day 
after  to-morrow." 

"  Ask  her ! "  cried  Dona  Pomposa,  tragically,  and 
she  swung  herself  to  the  other  end  of  the  room. 

"  Senorita,  at  your  feet." 

"  You  can  tell  your  friend  that  I  have  no  more  in- 
tention of  marrying  the  American  than  I  have  of 
marrying  him." 

"  Senorita !  But  he  expected  to  return  next  week 
and  marry  you." 

"  We  expect  many  things  in  this  world  that  we 
do  not  get." 

"  But — a  thousand  apologies  for  my  presumption, 
senorita — why  did  you  not  write  and  tell  him?r'^ 

"  I  never  write  letters." 

"But  you  could  have  sent  word  by  some  friend 
traveling  to  San  Francisco,  senorita." 

"He  would  find  it  out  hi  good  time.  "Why 
hurry?" 

"  Ay,  senorita,  well  are  you  named  Dona  Coquetta. 
You  are  famous  even  to  San  Francisco.  I  will  return 
to  my  poor  friend.  At  your  service,  sefiora.  At 
your  service,  senorita,"  and  he  bowed  himself  out, 
and  galloped  away. 

Dona  Pomposa  threw  herself  into  her  chair,  and 
wept  aloud. 

"  Mother  of  God !  I  had  thought  to  see  her  mar- 
ried to  a  thrifty  American !  What  have  I  done  to 


244  A  RAMBLE  WITH  EULOGIA. 

be  punished  with  so  heartless  a  child?  And  the 
Americans  will  have  all  the  money!  The  little  I 
have  will  go  too!  We  shall  be  left  sitting  in  the 
street.  And  we  might  have  a  wooden  house  in  San 
Francisco,  and  go  to  the  theater !  Oh,  Mother  of 
God,  why  dost  thou  not  soften  the  heart  of  the 
wicked — " 

Eulogia  slipped  out  of  the  window,  and  went  into 
the  Mission  gardens.  She  walked  slowly  through 
the  olive  groves,  lifting  her  arms  to  part  the  branches 
where  the  little  purple  spheres  lay  in  their  silver 
nests.  Suddenly  she  came  face  to  face  with  Pablo 
Ignestria. 


Two  days  later  she  stood  with  Charles  Rogers 
before  the  priest  in  the  Mission. 


LUKARI'S  STORY. 


"  Ay,  senor !  So  terreeblay  thing !  It  is  many 
years  before — 1 837, 1  theenk,  is  the  year ;  the  Ameri- 
canos no  have  come  to  take  California;  but  I  re- 
member like  it  is  yesterday. 

"You  see,  I  living  with  her — Dona  Juana  Ybarra 
her  name  is — ever  since  I  am  little  girl  and  she  too. 
It  is  like  this :  the  padres  make  me  Christian  in  the 
Mission,  and  her  family  take  me  to  work  hi  the 
house ;  I  no  living  on  the  rancheria  like  the  Indians 
who  work  ouside.  Bime  by  Dona  Juana  marrying 
and  I  go  live  with  her.  Bime  by  I  marrying  too, 
and  she  is  comadre — godmother,  you  call,  no  ? — to 
my  little  one,  and  steel  I  living  with  her,  and  in  few 
years  my  husband  and  little  one  die  and  I  love  her 
children  like  they  are  my  own,  and  her  too ;  we  grow 
old  together. 

"You  never  see  the  San  Ysidro  rancho?  It  is 
near  to  San  Diego  and  have  many,  many  leagues. 
Don  Carlos  Ybarra,  the  husband  de  my  senora,  is 
very  reech  and  very  brave  and  proud — too  brave  and 
proud,  ay,  yi !  We  have  a  beeg  adobe  house  with 
more  than  twenty  rooms,  and  a  corridor  for  the  front 


246  LUKAEVS  STORY. 

more  than  one  hundred  feets.  Outside  are  plenty 
other  houses  where  make  all  the  things  was  need  for 
eat  and  wear :  all  but  the  fine  closes.  They  come 
from  far,  from  Boston  and  Mejico.  All  stand  away 
from  the  hills  and  trees,  right  in  the  middle  the 
valley,  so  can  see  the  bad  Indians  when  coming. 
Far  off,  a  mile  I  theenk,  is  the  rancheria ;  no  can 
see  from  the  house.  No  so  far  is  the  corral,  where 
keeping  the  fine  horses. 

"  Ay,  we  have  plenty  to  eat  and  no  much  to  do  in 
those  days.  Don  Carlos  and  Dona  Juana  are  very 
devot  the  one  to  the  other,  so  the  family  living  very 
happy,  and  I  am  in  the  house  like  before  and  take 
care  the  little  ones.  Every  night  I  braid  my  seiiora's 
long  black  hair  and  tuck  her  in  bed  like  she  is  a 
baby.  She  no  grow  stout  when  she  grow  more  old, 
like  others,  but  always  is  muy  elegante. 

"  Bime  by  the  childrens  grow  up  ;  and  the  two  firs 
boys,  Roldan  and  Enrique,  marrying  and  living  in 
San  Diego.  Then  are  left  only  the  senor  and  the 
seiiora,  one  little  boy,  Carlos,  and  my  two  beautiful 
senoritas,  Beatriz  and  Ester.  Ay  !  How  pretty  they 
are.  Dios  de  mi  alma !  Where  they  are  now ! 

"  Dona  Beatriz  is  tall  like  the  mother,  and  sway 
when  she  walk,  like  you  see  the  tules  in  the  little 
wind.  She  have  the  eyes  very  black  and  long,  and 
look  like  she  feel  sleep  till  she  get  mad ;  then,  Madre 
de  Dios  !  they  opa  wide  and  look  like  she  is  on  fire 
inside  and  go  to  burn  you  too.  She  have  the  skin 
very  white,  but  I  see  it  hot  like  the  blood  go  to  burst 
out.  Once  she  get  furioso  cause  one  the  vaqueros 


LUKARVS  STORY.  247 

hurch  her  horse,  and  she  wheep  him  till  he  yell  like 
he  is  in  purgatory  and  no  have  no  one  say  mass  and 
get  him  out.  But  she  have  the  disposition  very 
sweet,  and  after  she  is  sorry  and  make  him  a  cake 
hersel ;  and  we  all  loving  her  like  she  is  a  queen,  and 
she  can  do  it  all  whatte  she  want. 

"  Dona  Ester  have  the  eyes  more  brown  and  soft, 
and  the  disposition  more  mild,  but  very  feerm,  and 
she  having  her  own  way  more  often  than  Dona  Bea- 
triz.  She  no  is  so  tall,  but  very  gracerful  too,  and 
walk  like  she  think  she  is  tall.  All  the  Spanish  so 
dignify,  no  ?  She  maka  very  kind  with  the  Indians 
when  they  are  seek,  and  all  loving  her,  but  no  so 
much  like  Doiia  Beatriz. 

"  Both  girls  very  industrioso,  sewing  and  make  the 
broidery ;  make  beautiful  closes  to  wear  at  the  ball. 
Ay,  the  balls  !  No  have  balls  like  those  in  California 
now.  Sometimes  have  one  fifty  miles  away,  but  they 
no  care ;  jump  on  the  horse  and  go,  dance  till  the  sun 
wake  up  and  no  feel  tire  at  all.  Sometimes  when  is 
wedding,  or  rodeo,  dance  for  one  week,  then  ride 
home  like  nothing  have  happen.  In  the  winter  the 
family  living  in  San  Diego  ;  have  big  house  there 
and  dance  every  night,  horseback  in  the  day  when 
no  rain,  and  have  so  many  races  and  games.  Ay, 
yi !  All  the  girls  so  pretty.  No  wear  hats  then ; 
the  rebosa,  no  more,  or  the  mantilla ;  fixit  so  gracer- 
ful ;  and  the  dresses  so  bright  colors,  sometimes  with 
flowers  all  over ;  the  skirt  make  very  f ule,  and  the 
waist  have  the  point.  And  the  closes  de  mens! 
Madre  de  Dios !  The  beautiful  velvet  and  silk 


248  LUKAEVS  STORY. 

closes,  broider  by  silver  and  gold !  And  the  saddles 
so  fine  !  But  you  think  I  never  go  to  tell  you  the 
story. 

"One  summer  we  are  more  gay  than  ever.  So 
many  caballeros  love  my  seiioritas,  but  I  think  they 
never  love  any  one,  and  never  go  to  marry  at  all. 
For  a  month  we  have  the  house  fule ;  meriendas — 
peekneek,  you  call,  no  ?  And  races  every  day,  dance 
in  the  night.  Then  all  go  to  stay  at  another  rancho ; 
it  is  costurnbre  to  visit  the  one  to  the  other.  I  feel 
very  sorry  for  two  so  handsome  caballeros,  who  are 
more  devot  than  any.  They  looking  very  sad  when 
they  go,  and  I  am  sure  they  propose  and  no  was 
accep. 

"  In  the  evening  it  is  very  quiet,  and  I  am  sweep 
the  corridor  when  I  hear  two  horses  gallope  down  the 
valley.  I  fix  my  hand — so — like  the  barrel  de  gun, 
and  look,  and  I  see,  riding  very  hard,  Don  Carmelo 
Pelajo  and  Don  Rafael  Arguello.  The  firs,  he  loving 
Doila  Beatriz,  the  other,  he  want  Dona  Ester.  I  go 
queeck  and  tell  the  girls,  and  Beatriz  toss  her  head 
and  look  very  scornfule,  but  Ester  blushing  and  the 
eyes  look  very  happy.  The  young  mens  come  in  in 
few  minutes  and  are  well  treat  by  Don  Carlos  and 
Dona  Juana,  for  like  them  very  much  and  are  glad 
si  the  girls  marry  with  them. 

"  After  supper  I  am  turn  down  the  bed  in  my  se- 
iiora's  room  when  I  hear  somebody  spik  very  low 
outside  on  the  corridor.  I  kneel  on  the  window  seat 
and  look  out,  and  there  I  see  Don  Rafael  have  his 
arms  roun  Dona  Ester  and  kissing  her  and  she.  no* 


LUKAEPS  STORli  249 

mine  at  all.  I  wonder  how  they  get  out  there  by 
theraself s,  for  the  Spanish  very  streect  with  the  girls 
and  no  'low  that.  But  the  young  peoples  always 
very — how  you  say  it  ? — smart,  no  ?  After  while  all 
go  to  bed,  and  I  braid  Dona  Juana's  hair  and  she  tell 
me  Ester  go  to  marry  Don  Rafael,  and  she  feel  very 
happy  and  I  no  say  one  word.  Then  I  go  to  Dona 
Beatriz's  beroom  ;  always  I  fix  her  for  the  bed,  too. 
Ester  have  other  woman  take  care  her,  but  Beatriz 
love  me.  She  keeck  me  when  she  is  little,  and  pull 
my  hair,  when  I  no  give  her  the  dulces ;  but  I  no 
mine,  for  she  have  the  good  heart  and  so  sweet 
spression  when  she  no  is  mad  and  always  maka  very 
kind  with  me.  I  comb  her  hair  and  I  see  she  look 
very  cross  and  I  ask  her  why,  and  she  say  she  hate 
mens,  they  are  fools  and  womens  too.  I  ask  her  why 
she  think  that,  and  she  say  she  no  can  be  spect  have 
reason  for  all  whatte  she  think ;  and  she  throw  her 
head  aroun  so  I  no  can  comb  at  all  and  keeck  out  her 
little  foot. 

"  *  You  no  go  to  marry  with  Don  Carlos  ? '  I 
asking. 

"  <  No  ! '  she  say,  and  youbetcherlife  her  eyes 
flash.  «  You  think  I  marrying  a  singing,  sighing, 
gambling,  sleepy  caballero  ?  Si  no  can  marry  man 
I  no  marry  at  all.  Madre  de  Dios  ! '  (She  spik 
beautiful ;  but  I  no  spik  good  Eenglish,  and  you  no 
ondrestan  the  Spanish.) 

" '  But  all  are  very  much  like,'  I  say ;  *  and  you  no 
want  die  old  maid,  no  ? ' 

«  « I  no  care ! '  and  then  she  fling  hersel  roun  on 


250  LUKAEVS  STORY. 

the  chair  and  throw  her  arms  roun  me  and  cry  and 
sob  on  my  estomac.  c  Ay,  my  Lukari !  '  she  cry 
when  she  can  spik,  '  I  hate  everybody !  I  am  tire 
out  to  exista !  I  want  to  live !  I  am  tire  stay  all 
alone !  Oh,  I  want — I  no  know  what  I  want !  Life 
is  terreeblay  thing,  macheppa  ! ' 

"  I  no  know  at  all  whatte  she  mean,  for  have 
plenty  peoples  all  the  time,  and  she  never  walk,  so  I 
no  can  think  why  she  feel  tire ;  but  I  kissing  her 
and  smoothe  her  hair,  for  I  jus  love  her,  and  tell  her 
no  cry.  Bime  by  she  fine  it  some  one  she  loving, 
and  she  is  very  young  yet,  twenty,  no  more. 

"  '  I  no  stay  here  any  longer,'  she  say.  *  I  go  to 
ask  my  father  take  me  to  Mejico,  where  can  see 
something*, cept  hills  and  trees  and  missions  and 
forts,  andj'',where  perhaps — ay,  Dios  de  mi  alma ! ' 
Then  she  jump  up  and  take  me  by  the  shoulders 
and  jus  throw  me  out  the  room  and  lock  the  door  ; 
but  I  no  mine,  for  I  am  use  to  her. 

"  Bueno,  I  think  I  go  for  walk,  and  bime  by  I 
come  to  tfce  rancheria  and  while  I  am  there  I  hear 
terreeblay  \hing  from  old  Pepe.  He  say  he  hear  for 
sure  that  the  bad  Indians — who  was  no  make  Chris- 
tian by  the  padres  and  living  very  wild  in  the  mount- 
ains— come  killing  all  the  white  peoples  on  the 
ranches.  He  say  he  know  sure  it  is  true,  and  tell 
me  beg  Don  Carlos  send  to  San  Diego  for  the  soldiers 
come  take  care  us.  I  feel  so  fright  I  hardly  can 
walk  back  to  the  house,  and  I  no  sleep  that  night. 
In  the  morning  firs  thing  I  telling  Don  Carlos,  but 
he  say  is  nonsense  and  no  will  lissen.  He  is  very 


LUKAEVS  STORY.  251 

brave  and  no  care  for  nothing;  fight  the  Indians 
and  killing  them  plenty  times.  The  two  caballeros 
go  away  after  breakfas,  and  when  they  are  gone  I 
can  see  my  senora  alone,  and  I  telling  her.  She  feel 
very  fright  and  beg  Don  Carlos  send  for  the  soldiers, 
but  he  no  will.  Ay,  yi !  Ester  is  fright  too ;  but 
JBeatriz  laugh  and  say  she  like  have  some  excite  and 
killing  the  Indians  hersel.  After  while  old  Pepe 
come  up  to  the  house  and  tell  he  hear  'gain,  but 
Don  Carlos  no  will  ask  him  even  where  he  hear,  and 
tell  him  to  go  back  to  the  rancheria  where  belong, 
and  make  the  reatas ;  he  is  so  old  he  no  can  make 
anything  else. 

"  Bueno !  The  nex  morning— bout  nine  o'clock — 
Don  Carlos  is  at  the  corral  with  two  vaqueros  and 
I  am  in  the  keetchen  with  the  cook  and  one  Indian 
boy,  call  Franco.  Never  I  like  that  boy.  Something 
so  sneak,  and  he  steal  the  dulces  plenty  times  and 
walk  so  soffit.  I  am  help  the  cook — very  good  wo- 
man, but  no  have  much  sense — fry  lard,  when  I  hear 
terreeblay  noise — horses  gallop  like  they  jump  out 
the  earth  near  the  house,  and  many  mens  yell  and 
scream  and  shout. 

"  I  run  to  the  window  and  whatte  I  see  ? — Indians, 
Indians,  Indians,  thick  like  black  ants  on  hill,  jus 
race  for  the  house,  yelling  like  the  horses  backs  been 
fule  de  pins  ;  and  Don  Carlos  and  the  two  vaqueros 
run  like  they  have  wings  for  the  kitchen  door,  so 
can  get  in  and  get  the  guns  and  fight  from  the  win- 
dows. I  know  whatte  they  want,  so  I  run  to  the 
door  to  throw  wide,  and  whatte  I  see  but  that  devil, 


252  LUKAEI'S  STOBY. 

Franco  lock  it  and  stan  in  front.  I  jump  on  him 
so  can  scratch  his  eyes  out,  but  he  keeck  me  in  the 
estomac  and  for  few  minutes  I  no  know  it  nothing. 

"  When  I  opa  my  eyes,  the  room  is  fule  de  Indians, 
and  in  the  fron  the  house  I  hear  my  senora  and 
Dona  Ester  scream,  scream,  scream.  I  crawl  up  by 
the  window  seat  and  look  out,  and  their — Ay,  Madre 
de  Dios  !  I  see  on  the  groun  my  seiior  dead,  stuck 
fule  de  arrows  ;  and  the  vaqueros,  too,  of  course. 
That  maka  me  crazy  and  I  run  through  the  Indians, 
hitting  them  with  my  fists,  to  my  senora  and  my 
senoritas.  Jus  as  I  run  into  the  sala  they  go  to  kill- 
ing my  senora,  but  I  snatch  the  knife  and  fall  down 
on  my  knees  and  beg  and  cry  they  no  hurcha  her, 
and  bime  by  they  say  all  right.  But — Santa  Dios  ! 
whatte  you  think  they  do  it  ?  They  tear  all  the 
closes  off  a  her  till  she  is  naked  like  my  han,  and 
drive  her  out  the  house  with  the  reatas.  They  no 
letting  me  follow  and  I  look  out  the  window  and 
see  her  reel  like  she  is  drunk  down  the  valley  and 
scream,  scream  ! — Ay,  Dios  ! 

"  Ester,  she  faint  and  no  know  it  nothing.  Beatriz, 
she  have  kill  one  Indian  with  her  pistol,  but  they 
take  way  from  her,  and  she  stan  look  like  the  dead 
woman  with  eyes  that  have  been  in  hell,  in  front 
the  chief,  who  looka  her  very  hard.  He  is  very  fine 
look,  that  chief,  so  tall  and  strong,  like  he  can  kill 
by  sweep  his  arm  roun,  and  he  have  fierce  black 
eyes  and  no  bad  nose  for  Indian,  with  nostrils  that 
jump.  His  mouth  no  is  cruel  like  mos  the  bad 
Indians,  nor  his  forehead  so  low.  He  wear  the 


LUKAUrS  STORY.  253 

crown  de  feathers,  and  botas,  and  serape  de  goaskin ; 
the  others  110  wear  much  at  all.  In  a  minute  he 
pick  up  Beatriz  and  fling  her  over  his  shoulder  like 
she  is  the  dead  deer,  and  he  tell  other  do  the  same 
by  Ester,  and  he  stalk  out  and  ride  away  hard.  The 
others  set  fire  everything,  then  ride  after  him.  They 
no  care  for  me  and  I  stand  there  shriek  after  my 
senoritas  and  the  beautiful  housses  burn  up. 

"  Then  I  think  de  my  senora  and  I  run  after  the 
way  she  going.  Bime  by  I  find  her  in  a  wheat  field, 
kissing  and  hugging  little  Carlos,  who  go  out  early 
and  no  meet  the  Indians ;  and  he  no  ondrestan  what 
is  the  matter  and  dance  up  and  down  he  is  so  fright. 
I  tell  him  run  fas  to  San  Diego  and  tell  Don  Roldan 
and  Don  Enrique  whatte  have  happen,  and  he  run 
like  he  is  glad  to  get  away.  Then  I  take  off  my 
closes  and  put  them  on  my  senora  and  drag  her 
along,  and,  bime  by,  we  coming  to  a  little  house, 
and  a  good  woman  give  me  some  closes  and  in  the 
night  we  coming  to  San  Diego.  Ay !  but  was  excite, 
everybody.  Carlos  been  there  two  or  three  hours 
before,  and  Don  Roldan  and  Don  Enrique  go  with 
the  soldiers  to  the  hills.  Everybody  do  it  all  whatte 
they  can  for  my  poor  senora,  but  she  no  want  to 
speak  by  anybody,  and  go  shut  hersel  up  in  a  room 
in  Don  Enrique's  house  and  jus  moan  and  I  sit 
ouside  the  door  and  moan  too. 

"  Of  course,  I  no  am  with  the  soldiers,  but  many 
times  I  hear  all  and  I  tell  you. 

"The  Indians  have  good  start,  and  the  white 
peoples  no  even  see  them,  but  they  fine  the  trail  and 


254  LUKAEVS  STORY. 

follow  hard.  Bime  by  they  coming  to  the  mountains. 
You  ever  been  in  the  mountains  back  de  San  Diego  ? 
No  the  hills,  but  the  mountains.  Ay !  So  bare  and 
rofe  and  sharp,  and  the  canons  so  narrow  and  the 
trails  so  steep !  No  is  safe  to  go  in  at  all,  for  the 
Indians  can  hide  on  the  rocks,  and  jus  shoot  the 
white  peoples  down  one  at  the  time,  si  they  like  it, 
when  climb  the  gorges.  The  soldiers  say  they  no 
go  in,  for  it  is  the  duty  de  them  to  living  and  protec 
California  from  the  Americanos ;  but  Don  Enrique 
and  Don  Roldan  say  they  go,  and  they  ride  right  in 
and  no  one  ever  spect  see  them  any  more.  It  is 
night,  so  they  have  good  chancacurn  to  look  and  no  be 
seen  si  Indians  no  watch. 

"  Bime  by  they  meet  one  Indian,  who  belong  to  the 
tribe  they  want,  and  fore  he  can  shoot  they  point  the 
pistol  and  tell  him  he  mus  show  them  where  are  the 
girls.  He  say  he  taking  them  and  on  the  way  he 
telling  them  the  chief  and  nother  chief  make  the 
girls  their  wifes.  This  make  them  wild  and  they 
tie  up  the  horses  so  can  climb  more  fast.  But  it  is 
no  till  late  the  nex  morning  when  they  come  sudden 
out  of  a  gorge  and  look  right  into  a  place,  very  flat 
like  a  plaza,  where  is  the  pueblo  de  the  Indians  they 
want.  For  moment  no  one  see  them,  and  they  see 
the  girls — Dios  de  mi  alma !  Have  been  big  feast, 
I  theenk  and  right  where  are  all  the  things  no  been 
clear  away,  Ester,  she  lie  on  the  groun  on  the  face 
and  cry  and  sob  and  shake.  But  Beatriz,  she  stan 
very  straight  in  the  middle,  'fore  the  door  the  big 
wigwam,  and  never  look  more  hansoine.  She  never 


LUKARVS  STORY.  255 

take  her  eyes  off  the  chief  who  taking  her  away 
and  no  look  discontent  at  all.  Then  the  Indians  see 
the  brothers  and  yell  and  run  to  get  the  bows  and 
arrows.  Don  Enrique  and  Don  Roldan  fire  the  pis- 
tols, but  after  all  they  have  to  run,  for  no  can  do 
it  nothing.  They  get  out  live  but  have  arrows  in 
them.  And  that  is  the  las  we  ever  hear  de  my 
senoritas.  Many  times  plenty  white  peoples  watch 
the  mountains  and  sometimes  go  in,  but  no  can 
find  nothing  and  always  are  wound. 

"  And  my  poor  senora !  For  whole  year  she  jus 
sit  in  one  room  and  cry  so  loud  all  the  peoples  in 
San  Diego  hear  her.  No  can  do  it  nothing  with  her. 
Ay,  she  love  the  husband  so,  and  the  two  beautiful 
girls !  Then  she  die  and  I  am  glad.  Much  better 
die  than  suffer  like  that.  And  Don  Rafael  and  Don 
Carmelo  ?  Oh,  they  marrying  other  girls,  course," 


LA  PERDIDA. 


ON  her  fourteenth  birthday  they  had  married  her 
to  an  old  man,  and  at  sixteen  she  had  met  and  loved 
a  fire-hearted  young  vaquero.  The  old  husband  had 
twisted  his  skinny  fingers  around  her  arm  and 
dragged  her  before  the  Alcalde,  who  had  ordered  her 
beautiful  black  braids  cut  close  to  her  neck,  and 
sentenced  her  to  sweep  the  streets.  Carlos,  the 
tempter  of  that  childish,  unhappy  heart,  was  flung 
into  prison.  Such  were  law  and  justice  in  California 
before  the  Americans  came. 

The  haughty,  elegant  women  of  Monterey  drew 
their  mantilla  more 'closely  about  their  shocked 
face  as  they  passed  La  Perdida  sweeping  the  dirt 
into  little  heaps.  The  soft-eyed  girls,  lovely  in  their 
white  or  flowered  gowns,  peered  curiously  through 
the  gratings  of  their  homes  at  the  "  lost  one,"  whose 
sin  they  did  not  understand,  but  whose  sad  face  and 
sorry  plight  appealed  to  their  youthful  sympathies. 
The  caballeros,  dashing  up  and  down  the  street, 
dazzling  in  bright  silken  jacket,  gold  embroidered, 
lace-trimmed,  the  sun  reflected  in  the  silver  of  their 
saddle,  shot  bold,  admiring  glances  from  beneath 
17 


258  LA  PERDIDA. 

their  sombrero.  No  one  spoke  to  her,  and  she  asked 
no  one  for  sympathy. 

She  slept  alone  in  a  little  hut  on  the  outskirts  of 
the  town.  With  the  dawn  she  rose,  put  on  her 
coarse  smock  and  black  skirt,  made  herself  a  tor- 
tilla, then  went  forth  and  swept  the  streets.  The 
children  mocked  her  sometimes,  and  she  looked  at 
them  in  wonder.  Why  should  she  be  mocked  or 
punished?  She  felt  no  repentance;  neither  the 
Alcalde  nor  her  husband  had  convinced  her  of  her 
sin's  enormity ;  she  felt  only  bitter  resentment  that 
it  should  have  been  so  brief.  Her  husband,  a  blear- 
eyed,  crippled  old  man,  loathsome  to  all  the  youth 
and  imagination  in  her,  had  beaten  her  and  made 
her  work.  A  man  young,  strong,  and  good  to  look 
upon,  had  come  and  kissed  her  with  passionate  ten- 
derness. Love  had  meant  to  her  the  glorification  of 
a  wretched,  sordid  life  ;  a  green  spot  and  a  patch  of 
blue  sky  in  the  desert.  If  punishment  followed 
upon  such  happiness,  must  not  the  Catholic  religion 
be  all  wrong  in  its  teachings  ?  Must  not  purgatory 
follow  heaven,  instead  of  heaven  purgatory  ? 

She  watched  the  graceful  girls  of  the  wealthy 
class  flit  to  and  fro  on  the  long  corridors  of  their 
houses,  or  sweep  the  strings  of  the  guitar  behind 
their  gratings  as  the  caballeros  passed.  Watchful 
old  women  were  always  near  them,  their  ears  alert 
for  every  word.  La  Perdida  thanked  God  that  she 
had  had  no  duena. 

One  night,  on  her  way  home,  she  passed  the  long, 
low  prison  where  her  lover  was  confined.  The  large 


LA  PERDIDA.  250 

Crystal  moon  flooded  the  red-tiled  roof  projecting 
over  the  deep  windows  and  the  shallow  cells.  The 
light  sweet  music  of  a  guitar  floated  through  iron 
bars,  and  a  warm  voice  sang : 

"  Adios,  adios,  de  ti  al  ausentarme, N 
Para  ir  en  paz  de  mi  fatal  estrella, 
11  levo  grabado  tu  imagen  bello, 
Aqui  en  mi  palpitante  corazon. 

"  Pero  aunque  lejos  de  tu  lado  me  halle 
No  olvides,  no,  que  por  tu  amoe  deliro 
Enviame  siquiera  un  suspiro, 
Que  de  consuelo,  a  mi  alma  en  su  dolor. 

"  Y  de  tu  pecho  la  emocion  sentida 
Ilegue  hasta  herrir  mi  lacerado  oido, 
Y  arranque  de  mi  pecho  dolorido 
Un  echo  que  repita,  adios  !  adios  ! " 

La  Perdida's  blood  leaped  through  her  body.  Her 
aimless  hands  struck  the  spiked  surface  of  a  cactus- 
bush,  but  she  never  knew  it.  When  the  song  was 
finished,  she  crept  to  the  grating  and  looked  in. 

"  Carlos  ! "  she  whispered. 

A  man  who  lay  on  the  straw  at  the  back  of  the 
!  cell  sprang  to  his  feet  and  came  forward. 

"  My  little  one  !  "  he  said.  "  I  knew  that  song 
would  bring  thee.  I  begged  them  for  a  guitar,  then 
to  be  put  in  a  front  cell."  He  forced  his  hands 
through  the  bars  and  gave  her  life  again  with  his 
strong  warm  clasp. 

"  Come  out,"  she  said. 

K  Ay !  they  have  me  fast.    But  when  they  do  let 


LA  PERDIDA. 

me  out,  nina,  I  will  take  thee  in  my  arms ;  and  who- 
soever tries  to  tear  thee  away  again  will  have  a 
dagger  in  his  heart.  God  of  my  life !  I  could  tear 
their  flesh  from  their  bones  for  the  shame  and  the 
pain  they  have  given  to  thee,  thou  poor  little  in- 
nocent girl ! " 

"  But  thou  lovest  me,  Carlos?  " 

"  There  is  not  an  hour  I  am  not  mad  for  thee,  not 
a  corner  of  my  heart  that  does  not  ache  for  thee ! 
Ay,  little  one.  never  mind  ;  life  is  long,  and  we  are 
young." 

She  pressed  nearer  and  laid  his  hand  on  her 
heart. 

"  Ay !  "  she  said,  "  life  is  long." 

"Holy  Mary!"  he  cried.  "The  hills  are  on 
fire  ! " 

A  shout  went  up  in  the  town.  A  flame,  midway 
on  the  curving  hills,  leaped  to  the  sky,  narrow  as  a 
ribbon,  then  swept  out  like  a  fan.  The  moon  grew 
dark  behind  a  rolling  pillar  of  smoke.  The  up- 
curved  arms  of  the  pines  were  etched  into  a  wall  of 
liquid,  shifting  red.  The  caballeros  sprang  to  their 
horses,  and  driving  the  Indians  before  them, 
fled  to  the  hills  to  save  the  town.  The  indolent 
women  of  Monterey  mingled  their  screams  with  the 
shrill  cries  of  the  populace  and  the  hoarse  shouts  of 
their  men.  The  prison  sentries  stood  to  their  post 
for  a  few  moments ;  then  the  panic  claimed  them, 
and  they  threw  down  their  guns  and  ran  with  the 
rest  to  the  hills. 

Carlos  gave  a  cry  of  derision  and  triumph.     "  My 


LA  PEJIDIDA.  261 

little  one  !  our  hour  has  come  !  Run  and  find  the 
keys." 

The  big  bunch  of  keys  had  been  flung  hastily  into 
a  corner.  A  moment  later  Carlos  held  the  shaking 
form  of  the  girl  in  his  powerful  arms.  Slender 
and  delicate  as  she  was,  she  made  no  protest  against 
the  fierceness  of  that  embrace. 

"  But  come,"  he  said.  "  We  have  only  this  hour 
for  escape.  When  we  are  safe  in  the  mountains — 
come  ! " 

He  lifted  her  in  his  arms  and  ran  down  the 
crooked  street  to  a  corral  where  an  hidalgo  kept  his 
finest  horses.  Carlos  had  been  the  vaquero  of  the 
band.  The  iron  bars  of  the  great  doors  were  down 
— only  one  horse  was  in  the  corral ;  the  others  had 
carried  the  hidalgo  and  his  friends  to  the  fire.  The 
brute  neighed  with  delight  as  Carlos  flung  saddle 
and  aquera  into  place,  then,  with  La  Perdida  in  his 
arms,  sprang  upon  its  back.  The  vaquero  dug  his 
spurs  into  the  shining  flanks,  the  mustang  reared, 
shook  his  small  head  and  silver  mane,  and  bounded 
through  the  doors. 

A  lean,  bent,  and  wiry  thing  darted  from  the 
shadows  and  upon  the  horse's  neck.  It  was  the 
husband  of  La  Perdida,  and  his  little  brown  face 
looked  like  an  old  walnut. 

"  Take  me  with  thee  !  "  he  cried.  "  I  will  give 
thee  the  old  man's  blessing,"  and,  clinging  like  a 
crab  to  the  neck  of  the  galloping  mustang,  he  drove 
a  knife  toward  the  heart  of  La  Perdida.  The  blade 
turned  upon  itself  as  lightning  sometimes  does,  and 


262  LA  PERDIDA. 

went  through  stringy  tissues  instead  of  fresh  young 
blood. 

Carlos  plucked  the  limp  body  from  the  neck  of  the 
horse  and  flung  it  upon  a  cactus-bush,  where  it 
sprawled  and  stiffened  among  the  spikes  and  the 
blood-red  flowers.  But  the  mustang  never  paused  ; 
and  as  the  fires  died  on  the  hills,  the  mountains 
opened  their  great  arms  and  sheltered  the  happiness 
of  two  wayward  hearts. 


NATALIE  IVANHOFF:  A  MEMORY  OF 
FORT  ROSS. 


AT  Fort  Ross,  on  the  northern  coast  of  California, 
an  astonishing  sight  may  be  witnessed  in  the  mid- 
night of  the  twenty-third  of  August.  The  present 
settlement  vanishes.  In  its  place  the  Fort  appears 
as  it  was  when  the  Russians  abandoned  it  in  1841. 
The  quadrilateral  stockade  of  redwood  beams, 
pierced  with  embrasures  for  carronades,  is  com- 
pact and  formidable  once  more.  The  ramparts  are 
paced  by  watchful  sentries ;  mounted  cannon  are 
behind  the  iron-barred  gates  and  in  the  graceful 
bastions.  Within  the  enclosure  are  the  low  log 
buildings  occupied  by  the  Governor  and  his  officers, 
the  barracks  of  the  soldiers,  the  arsenal,  and  store- 
houses. In  one  corner  stands  the  Greek  chapel, 
with  its  cupola  and  cross-surmounted  belfry.  The 
silver  chimes  have  rung  this  night.  The  Governor, 
his  beautiful  wife,  and  their  guest,  Natalie  Ivanhoff, 
have  knelt  at  the  jeweled  altar. 

At  the  right  of  the  Fort  is  a  small  "  town  "  of  rude 
huts  which  accommodate  some  eight  hundred 
Indians  and  Siberian  convicts,  the  working-men  of 


264  NATALIE  IVANHOFF: 

the  company.  Above  the  "town,"  on  a. high  knoll, 
is  a  large  grist  mill.  Describing  an  arc  of  perfect 
proportions,  its  midmost  depression  a  mile  behind 
the  Fort,  a  great  mountain  forms  a  natural  rampart. 
At  either  extreme  it  tapers  to  the  jagged  cliffs.  On 
its  three  lower  tables  the  mountain  is  green  and 
bare  ;  then  abruptly  rises  a  forest  of  redwoods,  tall, 
rigid,  tenebrious. 

The  mountain  is  visible  but  a  moment.  An 
immense  white  fog-bank  which  has  been  crouching 
on  the  horizon  rears  suddenly  and  rushes  across 
the  ocean,  whose  low  mutter  rises  to  a  roar.  It 
sweeps  like  a  tidal  wave  across  cliffs  and  Fort.  It 
halts  abruptly  against  the  face  of  the  mountain.  In 
the  same  moment  the  ocean  stills.  It  would  almost 
seem  that  nature  held  her  breath,  awaiting  some 
awful  event. 

Suddenly,  in  the  very  middle  of  the  fog-bank, 
appears  the  shadowy  figure  of  a  woman.  She 
is  gliding — to  the  right — rapidly  and  stealthily. 
Youth  is  in  her  slender  grace,  her  delicate  profile, 
dimly  outlined.  Her  long  hair  of  a  silveren-blonde 
color,  is  unbound  and  luminously  distinct  from  the 
white  fog.  She  walks  swiftly  across  the  lower 
table  of  the  mountain,  then  disappears.  One  sees, 
vaguely,  a  dark  figure  crouching  along  the  lower 
fringe  of  the  fog.  That,  too,  disappears. 

For  a  moment  the  silence  seems  intensified. 
Then,  suddenly,  it  is  crossed  by  a  low  whirr — a 
strange  sound  in  the  midnight.  Then  a  shriek 
whose  like  is  never  heard  save  when  a  soul  is 


A  MEMORY  OF  FORT  ROSS.  265 

wrenched  without  warning  in  frightfullest  torture 
from  its  body.  Then  another,  and  another,  and 
another  in  rapid  successipn,  each  fainter  and  more 
horrible  in  suggestion  than  the  last.  With  them 
has  mingled  the  single  frenzied  cry  of  a  man.  A 
moment  later  a  confused  hubbub  arises  from  the 
Fort  and  town,  followed  by  the  flashes  of  many 
lights  and  the  report  of  musketry.  Then  the  fog 
presses  downward  on  the  scene.  All  sound  but  that 
of  the  ocean,  which  seems  to  have  drawn  into  its 
loud,  dull  voice  all  the  sound  of  all  the  ages,  ceases 
as  though  muffled.  The  fog  lingers  a  moment,  then 
drifts  back  as  it  came,  and  Fort  Ross  is  the  Fort 
Ross  of  to-day. 

And  this  is  the  story : 

When  the  Princess  Helene  de  Gagarin  married 
Alexander  Rotscheff,  she  little  anticipated  that 
she  would  spend  her  honeymoon  in  the  northern 
wilds  of  the  Californias.  Nevertheless,  when  her 
husband  was  appointed  Governor  of  the  Fort  Ross 
and  Bodega  branch  of  the  great  Alaskan  Fur  Com- 
pany, she  volunteered  at  once  to  go  with  him — 
being  in  that  stage  of  devotion  which  may  be 
termed  emotionally  heroic  as  distinguished  from  the 
later  of  non-resistance.  As  the  exile  would  last  but 
a  few  years,  and  as  she  was  a  lady  of  a  somewhat 
adventurous  spirit,  to  say  nothing  of  the  fact  that 
she  was  deeply  in  love,  her  interpretation  of  wifely 
duty  hardly  wore  the  hue  of  martyrdom  even  to  her- 
self. 

Notwithstanding,  and  although  she  had  caused  to 


266  NATALIE  IVANHOFF: 

be  prepared  a  large  case  of  books  and  eight  trunks 
of  ravishing  raiment,  she  decided  that  life  in  a  fort 
hidden  between  the  mountains  and  the  sea,  miles 
away  from  even  the  primitive  Spanish  civiliza- 
tion, might  hang  burdensomely  at  such  whiles  as 
her  husband's  duties  claimed  him  and  books  ceased 
to  amuse.  So  she  determined  to  ask  the  friend  of 
her  twenty-three  years,  the  Countess  Natalie  Ivan- 
hoff,  to  accompany  her.  She  had  also  an  unselfish 
motive  in  so  doing.  Not  only  did  she  cherish  for 
the  Countess  Natalie  one  of  the  real  affections  which 
one  woman  occasionally  retains  for  another  until 
some  trifling  cause  reduces  it  to  memory,  but  her 
friend  was  as  deeply  wretched  as  she  was  happy. 

Two  years  before,  the  Prince  Alexis  Mikhailof,  be- 
trothed of  Natalie  Ivanhoff,  had  been,  without  ex- 
planation or  chance  of  parting  word,  banished  to 
Siberia  under  sentence  of  perpetual  exile.  Later  had 
come  rumor  of  his  escape,  then  of  death,  then  of  re- 
capture. Nothing  definite  could  be  learned.  When 
the  Princess  Helene  proffered  her  invitation  it  was 
accepted  gratefully,  hope  suggesting  that  in  the 
New  World  might  be  found  relief  from  the  torture 
that  was  re-lived  in  every  vibration  of  the  invisible 
wires  that  held  memory  fast  to  the  surroundings  in 
which  the  terrible  impressions,  etchers  of  memory, 
had  their  genesis. 

They  arrived  in  summer,  and  found  the  long  log 
house,  with  its  low  ceilings  and  rude  finish,  admi- 
rably comfortable  within.  By  aid  of  the  great  case 
of  things  Rotscheff  had  brought,  it  quickly  became 


A  MEMORY  OF  FORT  ROSS.  267 

an  abode  of  luxury.  Thick  carpets  covered  every 
floor ;  arras  hid  the  rough  walls ;  books  and  pictures 
and  handsome  ornaments  crowded  each  other ;  every 
chair  had  been  designed  for  comfort  as  well  as 
elegance;  the  dining  table  was  hidden  beneath  finest 
damask,  and  glittered  with  silver  and  crystal.  It 
was  an  unwritten  law  that  every  one  should  dress 
for  dinner ;  and  with  the  rich  curtains  hiding  the 
gloomy  mountain  and  the  long  sweep  of  cliffs  in- 
tersected by  gorge  and  gulch,  it  was  easy  for  the  gay, 
congenial  band  of  exiles  to  forget  that  they  were  not 
eating  the  delicacies  of  their  French  cook  and  drink- 
ing their  costly  wines  in  the  Old  World. 

In  the  daytime  the  women — several  of  the  officers' 
wives  had  braved  the  wilderness  also — found  much 
diversion  in  riding  through  the  dark  forests  or  along 
the  barren  cliffs,  attended  always  by  an  armed  guard. 
Diego  Estenega,  the  Spanish  magnate  of  the  North, 
whose  ranches  adjoined  Fort  Ross,  and  who  was 
financiall)7"  interested  in  the  Russian  fur  trade,  soon 
became  an  intimate  of  the  Rotscheff  household.  A 
Californian  by  birth,  he  was  nevertheless  a  man  of 
modern  civilization,  traveled,  a  student,  and  a  keen 
lover  of  masculine  sports.  Although  the  most  power- 
ful man  in  the  politics  of  his  conservative  country, 
he  was  an  American  in  appearance  and  dress.  His 
cloth  or  tweed  attire  suggested  the  colorous  mag- 
nificence of  the  caballeros  as  little  as  did  his  thin, 
nervous  figure  and  grim,  pallid,  intellectual  face. 
Rotscheff  liked  him  better  than  any  man  he  had  ever 
met ;  with  the  Princess  he  usually  waged  war,  that 


268  NA  TALIE  IVANHOFF  : 

lady  being  clever,  quick,  and  wedded  to  her  own 
opinions.  For  Natalie  he  felt  sincere  friendship  at 
once.  Being  a  man  of  keen  sympathies  and  strong 
impulses,  he  divined  her  trouble  before  he  heard  her 
story,  and  desired  to  help  her. 

The  Countess  Natalie,  despite  the  Governor's  pro- 
hibition, was  addicted  to  roving  over  the  cliffs  by 
herself,  finding  kinship  in  the  sterile  crags  and  futile 
restlessness  of  the  ocean.  She  had  learned  that  al- 
though change  of  scene  lightened  the  burden,  only 
death  would  release  her  from  herself. 

"  She  will  get  over  it,"  said  the  Princess  Helene 
to  Estenega.  "I  was  in  love  twice  before  I  met 
Alex,  so  I  know.  Natalie  is  so  beautiful  that  some 
day  some  man,  who  will  not  look  in  the  least  like 
poor  Alexis,  will  make  her  forget." 

Estenega,  being  a  man  of  the  world  and  having 
consequently  outgrown  the  cynicism  of  youth,  also 
knowing  women  better  than  this  fair  Minerva  would 
know  them  in  twenty  lifetimes,  thought  differently, 
and  a  battle  immediately  ensued. 

Natalie,  meanwhile,  wandered  along  the  cliffs. 
She  passed  the  town  hurriedly.  Several  times  when 
in  its  vicinity  before  the  magnetism  of  an  intense 
gaze  had  given  her  a  thrill  of  alarm,  and  once  or 
twice  she  had  met  face  to  face  the  miller's  son — a 
forbidding  youth  with  the  skull  of  the  Tartar  and 
the  coarse  black  hair  and  furtive  eyes  of  the  Indian — 
whose  admiration  of  her  beauty  had  been  annoyingly 
apparent.  She  was  not  conscious  of  observation  to- 
day, however,  and  skirted  the  cliffs  rapidly,  drawing 


A  MEMORY  OF  FORT  ROSS.  269 

her  gray  mantle  about  her  as  the  wind  howled  by, 
but  did  not  lift  the  hood ;  the  massive  coils  of  sil- 
veren-blonde  hair  kept  her  head  warm. 

As  the  Princess  Heldne,  despite  her  own  faultless 
blondinity,  had  approved,  Natalie  Ivanhoff  was  a 
beautiful  woman.  Her  profile  had  the  delicate  effect 
produced  by  the  chisel.  Her  white  skin  was  trans- 
parent and  untinted,  but  the  mouth  was  scarlet. 
The  large,  long  eyes  of  a  changeful  blue-gray,  al- 
though limpid  of  surface,  were  heavy  with  the  sad- 
ness of  a  sad  spirit.  Their  natural  fire  was  quenched 
just  as  the  slight  compression  of  her  lips  had  les- 
sened the  sensuous  fullness  of  their  curves. 

But  she  had  suffered  so  bitterly  and  so  variously 
that  the  points  had  been  broken  off  her  nerves,  she 
told  herself,  and,  excepting  when  her  trouble 
mounted  suddenly  like  a  wave  within  her,  her  mind 
was  tranquil.  Grief  with  her  had  expressed 
itself  in  all  its  forms.  She  had  known  what  it  was 
to  be  crushed  into  semi-insensibility ;  she  had  thrilled 
as  the  tears  rushed  and  the  sobs  shook  her  until 
every  nerve  ached  and  her  very  fingers  cramped ; 
and  she  had  gone  wild  at  other  times,  burying  her 
head  that  her  screams  might  not  be  heard :  the  last, 
as  imagination  pictured  her  lover's  certain  physical 
suffering.  But  of  all  agonies  none  could  approximate 
to  that  induced  by  death.  When  that  rumor  reached 
her  she  realized  that  hope  had  given  her  some  meas- 
ure of  support,  and  how  insignificant  all  other 
trouble  is  beside  that  awful  blank,  that  mystery, 
whose  single  revelation  is  the  houseless  soul's  unre.- 


270  NATALIE  IVANHOFF: 

turning  flight  from  the  only  world  we  are  sure  of. 
When  the  contradicting  rumor  came  she  clutched 
at  hope,  to  which  she  had  since  clung  frantically. 

"  It  is  the  only  reason  I  do  not  kill  myself,"  she 
thought,  as  she  stood  on  the  jutting  brow  of  the  cliff 
and  looked  down  on  the  masses  of  huge  stones 
which,  with  the  gaunt,  outlying  rocks,  had  once 
hung  on  the  face  of  the  crags.  The  great  breakers 
boiled  over  them  with  the  ponderosity  peculiar  to 
the  waters  of  the  Pacific.  The  least  of  those 
breakers  would  carry  her  far  into  the  hospitable 
ocean. 

"  It  is  so  easy  to  die  and  be  at  peace ;  the  only 
thing  which  makes  life  supportable  is  the  knowledge 
of  Death's  quick  obedience.  And  the  tragedy  of  life 
is  not  that  we  cannot  forget,  but  that  we  can. 
Think  of  being  an  old  woman  with  not  so  much  as  a 
connecting  current  between  the  memory  and  the 
heart,  the  long  interval  blocked  with  ten  thousand 
petty  events  and  trials!  It  must  be  worse  than 
this.  I  shall  have  gone  over  the  cliff  long  before 
that  time  comes.  I  would  go  to-day,  but  I  cannot 
leave  the  world  while  he  is  in  it." 

She  drew  a  case  from  her  pocket,  and  opened  it. 
It  showed  the  portrait  of  a  young  man  with  the 
somber  eyes  and  cynical  mouth  of  the  northern 
European,  a  face  indicating  intellect,  will,  passion, 
and  much  recklessness.  Eyes  and  hair  were  dark, 
the  face  smooth  but  for  a  slight  mustache. 

Natalie  burst  into  wild  sobbing,  reveling  in  the 
solitude  that  gave  her  freedom.  She  pressed  the 


A  MEMORY  OF  FORT  ROSS.  271 

picture  against  her  face,  and  cried  her  agony  aloud 
to  the  ocean.  Thrilling  memories  rushed  through 
her,  and  she  lived  again  the  first  ecstasy  of  grief. 
She  did  not  fling  herself  upon  the  ground,  or  other- 
wise indulge  in  the  acrobatics  of  woe,  but  she  shook 
xTom  head  to  foot.  Between  the  heavy  sobs  her 
breath  came  in  hard  gasps,  and  tears  poured,  hiding 
the  gray  desolation  of  the  scene. 

Suddenly,  through  it  all,  she  became  conscious 
that  some  one  was  watching  her.  Instinctively  she 
knew  that  it  was  the  same  gaze  which  so  often  had 
alarmed  her.  Fear  routed  every  other  passion. 
She  realized  that  she  was  unprotected,  a  mile  from 
the  Fort,  out  of  the  line  of  its  vision.  The  brutal 
head  of  the  miller's  son  seemed  to  thrust  itself  be- 
fore her  face.  Overwhelmed  with  terror,  she  turned 
swiftly  and  ran,  striking  blindly  among  the  low 
bushes,  her  glance  darting  from  right  to  left.  No 
one  was  to  be  seen  for  a  moment :  then  she  turned 
the  corner  of  a  boulder  and  came  upon  a  man.  She 
shrieked  and  covered  her  face  with  her  hands,  now 
too  frightened  to  move.  The  man  neither  stirred 
nor  spoke ;  and,  despite  this  alarming  circumstance, 
her  disordered  brain,  in  the  course  of  a  moment, 
conceived  the  thought  that  no  subject  of  Rotscheff 
would  dare  to  harm  her. 

Moreover,  her  brief  glance  had  informed  her  that 
this  was  not  the  miller's  son ;  which  fact,  illogically, 
somewhat  tempered  her  fear.  She  removed  her 
hands,  and  compelled  herself  to  look  sternly  at  the 
creature  who  had  dai  ed  raise  his  eyes  to  the  Count- 


272  NATALIE  IVANHOFF: 

ess  Natalie  Ivanhoff.  She  was  puzzled  to  find  some- 
thing familiar  about  him.  His  grizzled  hair  was 
long,  but  not  unkempt.  The  lower  part  of  his  face 
was  covered  by  a  beard.  He  was  almost  fleshless ; 
but  in  his  sunken  eyes  burned  unquenchable  fire, 
and  there  was  determined  vigor  in  his  gaunt  figure. 
He  might  have  been  any  age.  Assuredly,  the  out- 
ward seeming  of  youth  was  not  there,  but  its  sug- 
gestion still  lingered  tenaciously  in  the  spirit  which 
glowed  through  the  worn  husk.  And  about  him,  in 
spite  of  the  rough  garb  and  blackened  skin,  was  an 
unmistakable  air  of  breeding. 

Natalie,  as  she  looked,  grew  rigid.  Then  she 
uttered  a  cry  of  rapturous  horror,  staggered,  and 
was  caught  in  a  fierce  embrace.  Her  stunned  senses 
awoke  in  a  moment,  and  she  clung  to  him,  crying 
wildly,  holding  him  with  straining  arms,  filled  with 
bitter  happiness. 

In  a  few  moments  he  pushed  her  from  him,  and 
regarded  her  sadly. 

"  You  are  as  beautiful  as  ever,"  he  said ;  "  but  I 
— look  at  me !  Old,  hideous,  ragged !  I  am  not  fit 
to  touch  you ;  I  never  meant  to.  Go !  I  shall  never 
blame  you." 

For  answer  she  sprang  to  him  again. 

"  What  difference  is  it  how  you  look  ?  "  she  cried, 
still  sobbing.  "  Is  it  not  you  f  Are  not  you  in  here 
just  the  same  ?  What  matter  ?  What  matter  ?  No 
matter  what  you  looked  through,  you  would  be  the 
same.  Listen,"  she  continued,  rapidly,  after  a 
moment.  "  We  are  in  a  new  country ;  there  is  hope 


A  MEMORY  OF  FOE1  ROSS.  273 

for  us.  If  we  can  reach  the  Spanish  towns  of  the  South 
we  are  safe.  I  will  ask  Don  Diego  Estenega  to  help 
us,  and  he  is  not  the  man  to  refuse.  He  stays  with 
us  to-night,  and  I  will  speak  alone  with  him.  Meet 
me  to-morrow  night — where  ?  At  the  grist-mill  at 
midnight.  We  had  better  not  meet  by  day  again. 
Perhaps  we  can  go  then.  You  will  be  there  ?  " 

"Will  I  be  there?  God!  Of  course  I  will  be 
there." 

And,  the  brief  details  of  their  flight  concluded, 
they  forgot  it  and  all  else  for  the  hour. 


IV. 

NATALIE  could  not  obtain  speech  alone  with 
Estenega  that  evening;  but  the  next  morning  the 
Princess  Helene  commanded  her  household  and  guest 
to  accompany  her  up  the  hill  to  the  orchard  at  the 
foot  of  the  forest ;  and  there,  while  the  others  wan- 
dered over  the  knolls  of  the  shadowy  inclosure, 
Natalie  managed  to  tell  her  story.  Estenega  offered 
his  help  spontaneously. 

"At  twelve  to-night,"  he  said,  "I  will  wait  for 
you  in  the  forest  with  horses,  and  will  guide  you 
myself  to  Monterey.  I  have  a  house  there,  and  you 
can  leave  on  the  first  barque  for  Boston." 

As  soon  as  the  party  returned  to  the  Fort, 
Estenega  excused  himself  and  left  for  his  home.  The 
day  passed  with  maddening  slowness  to  Natalie. 
She  spent  the  greater  part  of  it  walking  up  and 
down  the  immediate  cliffs,  idly  watching  the  men 
18 


274  NATALIE  IVANHOFF: 

capturing  the  seals  and  otters,  the  ship-builders 
across  the  gulch.  As  she  returned  at  sunset  to  the 
inclosure  she  saw  the  miller's  son  standing  by  the 
gates,  gazing  at  her  with  hungry  admiration.  He 
inspired  her  with  sudden  fury. 

"  Never  presume  to  look  at  me  again,"  she  said> 
harshly.  "  If  you  do  I  shall  report  you  to  the 
Governor." 

And  without  waiting  to  note  how  he  accepted  the 
mandate,  she  swept  by  him  and  entered  the  Fort, 
the  gates  clashing  behind  her. 

The  inmates  of  Fort  Ross  were  always  in  bed  by 
eleven  o'clock.  At  that  hour  not  a  sound  was  to  be 
heard  but  the  roar  of  the  ocean,  the  soft  pacing  of 
the  sentry  on  the  ramparts,  the  cry  of  the  panther 
in  the  forest.  On  the  evening  in  question,  after  the 
others  had  retired,  Natalie,  trembling  with  excite- 
ment, made  a  hasty  toilet,  changing  her  evening 
gown  for  a  gray  traveling  frock.  Her  heavy  hair 
came  unbound,  and  her  shaking  hands  refused  to 
adjust  the  close  coils.  As  it  fell  over  her  gray  mantle 
it  looked  so  lovely,  enveloping  her  with  the  silver 
sheen  of  mist,  that  she  smiled  in  sad  vanity,  re- 
membering happier  days,  and  decided  to  let  her 
lover  see  her  thus.  She  could  braid  her  hair  at  the 
mill. 

A  moment  or  two  before  twelve  she  raised  the 
window  and  swung  herself  to  the  ground.  The 
sentry  was  on  the  rampart  opposite :  she  could  not 
make  her  exit  by  that  gate.  She  walked  softly 
around  the  buildings,  keeping  in  their  shadow,  and 


A  MEMORY  OF  FORT  ROSS.  275 

reached  the  gates  facing  the  forest.  They  were  not 
difficult  to  unbar,  and  in  a  moment  she  stood  with- 
out, free.  She  could  not  see  the  mountain ;  a  heavy 
bank  of  white  fog  lay  against  it,  resting,  after  its 
long  flight  over  the  ocean,  before  it  returned,  or 
swept  onward  to  ingulf  the  redwoods. 

She  went  with  noiseless  step  up  the  path,  then 
turned  and  walked  swiftly  toward  the  mill.  She 
was  very  nervous ;  mingling  with  the  low  voice  of 
the  ocean  she  imagined  she  heard  the  moans  with 
which  beheaded  convicts  were  said  to  haunt  the 
night.  Once  she  thought  she  heard  a  footstep  be- 
hind her,  and  paused,  her  heart  beating  audibly. 
But  the  sound  ceased  with  her  own  soft  footfalls, 
and  the  fog  was  so  dense  that  she  could  see  nothing. 
The  ground  was  soft,  and  she  was  beyond  the  sen- 
try's earshot ;  she  ran  at  full  speed  across  the  field, 
down  the  gorge,  and  up  the  steep  knoll.  As  she 
reached  the  top  she  was  taken  in  Mikhaiilof  s  arms. 
For  a  few  moments  she  was  too  breathless  to  speak ; 
then  she  told  him  her  plans. 

"  Let  me  braid  my  hair,"  she  said,  finally,  and  we 
will  go." 

He  drew  her  within  the  mill,  then  lit  a  lantern  and 
heid  it  above  her  head,  his  eyes  dwelling  pas- 
sionately on  her  beauty,  enhanced  by  the  color  of 
excitement  and  rapid  exercise. 

"You  look  like  the  moon  queen,"  he  said.  "I 
missed  your  hair,  apart  from  yourself." 

She  lifted  her  chin  with  a  movement  of  coquetry 
most  graceful  in  spite  of  long  disuse,  and  the  answer- 


276  NATALIE  IVANHOFF: 

ing  fire  sprang  into  her  eyes.  She  looked  very  piquant 
and  a  trifle  diabolical.  He  pressed  his  lips  suddenly 
on  hers.  A  moment  later  something  tugged  at  the 
long  locks  his  hand  caressed,  and  at  the  same  time 
he  became  conscious  that  the  silence  which  had 
fallen  between  them  was  shaken  by  a  loud  whirr. 
He  glanced  upward.  Natalie  was  standing  with 
her  back  to  one  of  the  band- wheels.  It  had  begun 
to  revolve;  in  the  moment  it  increased  its  speed; 
and  he  saw  a  glittering  web  on  its  surface.  With 
an  exclamation  of  horror,  he  pulled  her  toward  him ; 
but  he  was  too  late.  The  wheel,  spinning  now  with 
the  velocity  of  midday,  caught  the  whole  silver  cloud 
in  its  spokes,  and  Natalie  was  swept  suddenly  up- 
ward. Her  feet  hit  the  low  rafters,  and  she  was 
whirled  round  and  round,  screams  of  torture  torn 
from  her  rather  than  uttered,  her  body  describing  a 
circular  right  angle  to  the  shaft,  the  bones  breaking 
as  they  struck  the  opposite  one  ;  then,  in  swift 
finality,  she  was  sucked  between  belt  and  wheel. 
Mikhailof  managed  to  get  into  the  next  room  and 
reversed  the  lever.  The  machinery  stopped  as 
abruptly  as  it  had  started ;  but  Natalie  was  out  of 
her  agony. 

Her  lover  flung  himself  over  the  cliffs,  shattering 
bones  and  skull  on  the  stones  at  their  base.  They 
made  her  a  coffin  out  of  the  copper  plates  used  for 
their  ships,  and  laid  her  in  the  straggling,  unpopu- 
lous  cemetery  on  the  knoll  across  the  gulch  beyond 
the  chapel. 


A  MEMORY  OF  FORT  ROSS.  277 

"  When  we  go  we  will  take  her,"  said  Rotscheff  to 
his  distracted  wife. 

But  when  they  went,  a  year  or  two  after,  in  the 
hurry  of  departure  they  forgot  her  until  too  late ; 
and  they  promised  to  return.  But  they  never  came, 
and  she  sleeps  there  still,  on  the  lonely  knoll  between 
the  sunless  forest  and  the  desolate  ocean. 


THE  VENGEANCE  OF  PADRE  ARROYO. 


PILAR,  from  her  little  window  just  above  the  high 
wall  surrounding  the  big  adobe  house  set  apart  for 
the  women  neophytes  of  the  Mission  of  Santa  Ines, 
watched,  morning  and  evening,  for  Andreo,  as  he 
came  and  went  from  the  rancheria.  The  old  wo- 
men kept  the  girls  busy,  spinning,  weaving,  sewing, 
but  age  nods  and  youth  is  crafty.  The  tall  young 
Indian  who  was  renowned  as  the  best  huntsman  of 
all  the  neophytes,  and  who  supplied  Padre  Arroyo's 
table  with  deer  and  quail,  never  failed  to  keep  his 
ardent  eyes  fixed  upon  the  grating  so  long  as  it  lay 
within  the  line  of  his  vision.  One  day  he  went  to 
Padre  Arroyo  and  told  him  that  Pilar  was  the  pret- 
tiest girl  behind  the  wall — the  prettiest  girl  in  all 
the  Californias — and  that  she  should  be  his  wife. 
But  the  kind,  stern  old  padre  shook  his  head. 

"  You  are  both  too  young.  Wait  another  year,  my 
son,  and  if  thou  art  still  in  the  same  mind  thou  shalt 
have  her." 

Andreo  dared  make  no  protest,  but  he  asked  per- 

279 


280  THE  VENGEANCE  OF  PADEE  AEEOYO. 

mission  to  prepare  a  home  for  his  bride.  The  padre 
gave  it  willingly,  and  the  young  Indian  began  to 
make  the  big  adobes,  the  bright  red  tiles.  At  the 
end  of  a  month  he  had  built  him  a  cabin  among  the 
willows  of  the  rancheria  a  little  apart  from  the 
others :  he  was  in  love,  and  association  with  his 
fellows  was  distasteful.  When  the  cabin  was  builded 
his  impatience  slipped  from  its  curb,  and  once  more 
he  besought  the  priest  to  allow  him  to  marry. 

Padre  Arroyo  was  sunning  himself  on  the  corridor 
of  the  Mission,  shivering  in  his  heavy  brown  robes, 
for  the  day  was  cold. 

"  Orion,"  he  said,  sternly— he  called  all  his  neo- 
phytes after  the  celebrities  of  earlier  days,  regardless 
of  the  names  given  them  at  the  font — "  have  I  not  told 
thee  thou  must  wait  a  year  ?  Do  not  be  impatient, 
my  son.  She  will  keep.  Women  are  like  apples : 
when  they  are  too  young  they  set  the  teeth  on  edge ; 
when  ripe  and  mellow  they  please  every  sense ;  when 
they  wither  and  turn  brown  it  is  time  to  fall  from  the 
tree  into  a  hole.  Now  go  and  shoot  a  deer  for  Sun- 
day :  the  good  padres  from  San  Luis  Obispo  and 
Santa  Barbara  are  coming  to  dine  with  me." 

Andreo,  dejected,  left  the  padre.  As  he  passed 
Pilar's  window  and  saw  a  pair  of  wistful  black  eyes 
behind  the  grating  his  heart  took  fire.  No  one  was 
within  sight.  By  a  series  of  signs  he  made  his  lady 
understand  that  he  would  place  a  note  beneath  a  cer- 
tain adobe  in  the  wall. 

Pilar,  as  she  went  to  and  fro  under  the  fruit-trees 
in  the  garden,  or  sat  on  the  long  corridor  weaving 


THE  VENGEANCE  OF  PADRE  ARROYO.     281 

baskets,  watched  that  adobe  with  fascinated  eyes. 
She  knew  that  Andreo  was  tunneling  it,  and  one  day 
a  tiny  hole  proclaimed  that  his  work  was  accom- 
plished. But  how  to  get  the  note  ?  The  old  women's 
eyes  were  very  sharp  when  the  girls  were  in  front 
of  the  gratings.  Then  the  civilizing  development  of 
Christianity  upon  the  heathen  intellect  triumphantly 
asserted  itself.  Pilar,  too,  conceived  a  brilliant 
scheme.  That  night  the  padre,  who  encouraged  any 
evidence  of  industry,  no  matter  how  eccentric,  gave 
her  a  little  garden  of  her  own — a  patch  where  she 
could  raise  sweet  peas  and  Castilian  roses. 

"  That  is  well,  that  is  well,  my  Nausicaa,"  he  said, 
stroking  her  smoken  braids.  "  Go  cut  the  slips  and 
plant  them  where  thou  wilt.  I  will  send  thee  a 
package  of  sweet  pea  seeds." 

Pilar  spent  every  spare  hour  bending  over  her 
"  patch,"  and  the  hole,  at  first  no  bigger  than  a  pin's 
point,  was  larger  at  each  setting  of  the  sun  behind 
the  mountain,  while  the  old  women,  scolding  on  the 
corridor,  called  to  her  not  to  forget  vespers. 

On  the  third  evening,  kneeling  on  the  damp 
ground,  she  drew  from  the  little  tunnel  in  the  adobe 
a  thin  slip  of  wood  covered  with  the  labor  of  sleepless 
nights.  She  hid  it  in  lier  smock — that  first  of  Cali- 
fornia's love-letters — then  ran  with  shaking  knees 
and  prostrated  herself  before  the  altar.  That  night 
the  moon  streamed  through  her  grating,  and  she 
deciphered  the  fact  that  Andreo  had  loosened  eight 
adobes  above  her  garden,  and  would  await  her  every 
midnight. 


282  THE  VENGEANCE  OF  PADEE  AEEOTO. 

Pilar  sat  up  in  bed  and  glanced  about  the  room 
with  terrified  delight.  It  took  her  but  a  moment  to 
decide  the  question  ;  love  had  kept  her  awake  too 
many  nights.  The  neophytes  were  asleep  ;  as  they 
turned  now  and  again,  their  narrow  beds  of  hide, 
suspended  from  the  ceiling,  swung  too  gently  to 
awaken  them.  The  old  women  snored  loudly.  Pilar 
slipped  from  her  bed  and  looked  through  the  grat- 
ing. Andreo  was  there,  the  dignity  and  repose  of 
primeval  man  in  his  bearing.  She  waved  her  hand 
and  pointed  downward  to  the  wall ;  then,  throwing 
on  the  long,  coarse  gray  smock  that  was  her  only 
garment,  crept  from  the  room  and  down  the  stair. 
The  door  was  protected  against  hostile  tribes  by  a 
heavy  iron  bar,  but  Pilar's  small  hands  were  hard 
and  strong,  and  in  a  moment  she  stood  over  the 
adobes  which  had  crushed  her  roses  and  sweet  peas. 

As  she  crawled  through  the  opening,  Andreo  took 
her  hand  bashfully,  for  they  had  never  spoken. 
"  Come,"  he  said :  "  we  must  be  far  away  before 
dawn." 

They  stole  past  the  long  Mission,  crossing  them- 
selves as  they  glanced  askance  at  the  ghostly  row  of 
pillars;  past  the  guard-house,  where  the  sentries 
slept  at  their  post ;  past  the  rancheria ;  then,  spring- 
ing upon  a  waiting  mustang,  dashed  down  the  valley. 
Pilar  had  never  been  on  a  horse  before,  and  she 
clung  in  terror  to  Andreo,  who  bestrode  the  unsad- 
dled beast  as  easily  as  a  cloud  rides  the  wind.  His 
arm  held  her  closely:  fear  vanished,  and  she  en- 
joyed the  novel  sensation.  Glancing  over  Andreo's 


THE  VENGEANCE  OF  PADBE  ARROYO.     283 

shoulder  she  watched  the  mass  of  brown  and  white 
buildings,  the  winding  river,  fade  into  the  mountain. 
Then  they  began  to  ascend  an  almost  perpendicular 
steep.  The  horse  followed  a  narrow  trail ;  the  crowd- 
ing trees  and  shrubs  clutched  the  blanket  and  smock 
of  the  riders;  after  a  time  trail  and  scene  grew 
white :  the  snow  lay  on  the  heights. 

"  Where  do  we  go  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  To  Zaca  lake,  on  the  very  top  of  the  mountain, 
miles  above  us.  No  one  has  ever  been  there  bub 
myself.  Often  I  have  shot  deer  and  birds  beside  it. 
They  will  never  find  us  there." 

The  red  sun  rose  over  the  mountains  of  the  east. 
The  crystal  moon  sank  in  the  west.  Andreo  sprang 
from  the  weary  mustang  and  carried  Pilar  to  the 
lake. 

A  sheet  of  water,  round  as  a  whirlpool,  but  calm 
and  silveren,  lay  amidst  the  sweeping  willows  and 
pine-forested  peaks.  The  snow  glittered  beneath 
the  trees,  but  a  canoe  was  on  the  lake,  a  hut  on  the 
marge. 

II. 

PADRE  ARROYO  tramped  up  and  down  the  corridor, 
smiting  his  hands  together.  The  Indians  bowed 
lower  than  usual,  as  they  passed,  and  hastened  their 
steps.  The  soldiers  scoured  the  country  for  the  bold 
violators  of  Mission  law.  No  one  asked  Padre  Arroyo 
what  he  would  do  with  the  sinners,  but  all  knew 
that  punishment  would  be  sharp  and  summary :  the 


284  THE  VENGEANCE  OF  PADRE  ARROYO. 

men  hoped  that  Andreo's  mustang  had  carried  him 
beyond  its  reach ;  the  girls,  horrified  as  they  were, 
wept  and  prayed  in  secret  for  Pilar. 

A  week  later,  in  the  early  morning,  Padre  Arroyo 
sat  on  the  corridor.  The  Mission  stood  on  a  plateau 
overlooking  a  long  valley  forked  and  silvered  by  the 
broad  river.  The  valley  was  planted  thick  with 
olive-trees,  and  their  silver  leaves  sparkled  in  the 
rising  sun.  The  mountain-peaks  about  and  beyond 
were  white  with  snow,  but  the  great  red  poppies 
blossomed  at  their  feet.  The  padre,  exiled  from  the 
luxury  and  society  of  his  dear  Spain,  never  tired  of 
the  prospect :  he  loved  his  Mission  children,  but  he 
loved  Nature  more. 

Suddenly  he  leaned  forward  on  his  staff  and  lifted 
the  heavy  brown  hood  of  his  habit  from  his  ear. 
Down  the  road  winding  from  the  eastern  mountains 
came  the  echo  of  galloping  footfalls.  He  rose  ex- 
pectantly and  waddled  out  upon  the  plaza,  shading 
his  eyes  with  his  hand.  A  half-dozen  soldiers,  rid- 
ing closely  about  a  horse  bestridden  by  a  stalwart 
young  Indian  supporting  a  woman,  were  rapidly 
approaching  the  Mission.  The  padre  returned  to  his 
seat  and  awaited  their  coming. 

The  soldiers  escorted  the  culprits  to  the  corridor ; 
two  held  the  horse  while  they  descended,  then  led  it 
away,  and  Andreo  and  Pilar  were  alone  with  the 
priest.  The  bridegroom  placed  his  arm  about  the 
bride  and  looked  defiantly  at  Padre  Arroyo,  but 
Pilar  drew  her  long  hair  about  her  face  and  locked 
her  hands  together. 


THE  VENGEANCE  OF  PADRE  ARROYO.     285 

Padre  Arroyo  folded  his  arms  and  regarded  them 
with  lowered  brows,  a  sneer  on  his  mouth. 

"  I  have  new  names  for  you  both,"  he  said,  in  his 
thickest  voice.  "  Antony,  I  hope  thou  hast  enjoyed 
thy  honeymoon.  Cleopatra,  I  hope  thy  little  toes 
did  not  get  frost-bitten.  You  both  look  as  if  food 
had  been  scarce.  And  your  garments  have  gone  in 
good  part  to  clothe  the  brambles,  I  infer.  It  is  too 
bad  you  could  not  wait  a  year  and  love  in  your  cabin 
at  the  rancheria,  by  a  good  fire,  and  with  plenty  of 
frijoles  and  tortillas  in  your  stomachs."  He  dropped 
his  sarcastic  tone,  and,  rising  to  his  feet,  extended 
his  right  arm  with  a  gesture  of  malediction.  "  Do 
you  comprehend  the  enormity  of  your  sin?"  he 
shouted.  "  Have  you  not  learned  on  your  knees  that 
the  fires  of  hell  are  the  rewards  of  unlawful  love  ? 
Do  you  not  know  that  even  the  year  of  sackcloth 
and  ashes  I  shall  impose  here  on  earth  will  not  save 
you  from  those  flames  a  million  times  hotter  than 
the  mountain  fire,  than  the  roaring  pits  in  which  evil 
Indians  torture  one  another  ?  A  hundred  years  of 
their  scorching  breath,  of  roasting  flesh,  for  a  week 
of  love !  Oh,  God  of  my  soul !  " 

Andreo  looked  somewhat  staggered,  but  un- 
repentant. Pilar  burst  into  loud  sobs  of  terror. 

The  padre  stared  long  and  gloomily  at  the  flags  of 
the  corridor.  Then  he  raised  his  head  and  looked 
sadly  at  his  lost  sheep. 

"  My  children,"  he  said,  solemnly,  "  my  heart  is 
wrung  for  you.  You  have  broken  the  laws  of  God 
and  of  the  Holy  Catholic  Church,  and  the  punish- 


286  THE  VENGEANCE  OF  PADRE  ARROYO. 

ments  thereof  are  awful.  Can  I  do  anything  for  you, 
excepting  to  pray  ?  You  shall  have  my  prayers,  my 
children.  But  that  is  not  enough  ;  I  cannot — ay !  I 
cannot  endure  the  thought  that  you  shall  be  damned. 
Perhaps " — again  he  stared  meditatively  at  the 
stones,  then,  after  an  impressive  silence,  raised  his 
eyes.  "  Heaven  vouchsafes  me  an  idea,  my  children. 
I  will  make  your  punishment  here  so  bitter  that 
Almighty  God  in  his  mercy  will  give  you  but  a  few 
years  of  purgatory  after  death.  Come  with  me." 

He  turned  and  led  the  way  slowly  to  the  rear  of 
the  Mission  buildings.  Andreo  shuddered  for  the 
first  time,  and  tightened  his  arm  about  Pilar's  shak- 
ing body.  He  knew  that  they  were  to  be  locked  in 
the  dungeons.  Pilar,  almost  fainting,  shrank  back 
as  they  reached  the  narrow  spiral  stair  which  led 
downward  to  the  cells.  "  Ay !  I  shall  die,  my 
Andreo ! "  she  cried.  "  Ay !  my  father,  have 
mercy ! " 

"  I  cannot,  my  children,"  said  the  padre,  sadly. 
"It  is  for  the  salvation  of  your  souls." 

"  Mother  of  God !  When  shall  I  see  thee  again,  my 
Pilar  ?  "  whispered  Andreo.  "  But,  ay  !  the  memory 
of  that  week  on  the  mountain  will  keep  us  both 
alive." 

Padre  Arroyo  descended  the  stair  and  awaited 
them  at  its  foot.  Separating  them,  and  taking  each 
by  the  hand,  he  pushed  Andreo  ahead  and  dragged 
Pilar  down  the  narrow  passage.  At  its  end  he  took 
a  great  bunch  of  keys  from  his  pocket,  and  raising 
both  hands  commanded  them  to  kneel.  He  said  a 


THE  VENGEANCE  OF  PADRE  ARROYO.  287 

long  prayer  in  a  loud,  monotonous  voice  which 
echoed  and  re-echoed  down  the  dark  hall  and  made 
Pilar  shriek  with  terror.  Then  he  fairly  hurled  the 
marriage  ceremony  at  them,  and  made  the  couple 
repeat  after  him  the  responses.  When  it  was  over, 
"Arise,"  he  said. 

The  poor  things  stumbled  to  their  feet,  and  Andreo 
caught  Pilar  in  a  last  embrace. 

"  Now  bear  your  incarceration  with  fortitude,  my 
children  ;  and  if  you  do  not  beat  the  air  with  your 
groans  I  will  let  you  out  in  a  week.  Do  not  hate 
your  old  father,  for  love  alone  makes  him  severe, 
but  pray,  pray,  pray." 

And  then  he  locked  them  both  in  the  same  cell. 


MISSION    TALES. 


UNI 


THE  BELLS  OF  SAN  GABRIEL 


I. 

THE  Senor  Capitan  Don  Luis  de  la  Torre  walked 
impatiently  up  and  down  before  the  grist-mill  where- 
in were  quartered  the  soldiers  sent  by  Mexico  to 
protect  the  building  of  the  Mission  of  San  Gabriel. 
The  Indian  workmen  were  slugs ;  California,  a  vast 
region  inhabited-  only  by  savages  and  a  few  priests, 
offered  slender  attractions  to  a  young  officer  craving 
the  gay  pleasures  of  his  capital  and  the  presence  of 
the  woman  he  was  to  marry.  For  months  he  had 
watched  the  Mission  church  mount  slowly  from 
foundation  to  towers,  then  spread  into  pillared  cor- 
ridors and  rooms  for  the  clergy.  He  could  have 
mapped  in  his  mind  every  acre  of  the  wide,  beautiful 
valley  girt  by  mountains  snowed  on  their  crest.  He 
had  thought  it  all  very  lovely  at  first :  the  yellow 
atmosphere,  the  soft  abiding  warmth,  the  blue  reflect- 
ing lake ;  but  the  green  on  mountain  and  flat  had 
waxed  to  gold,  then  waned  to  tan  and  brown,  and 
he  was  tired.  Not  even  a  hostile  Indian  had  come 
to  be  killed. 

19  289 


290  THE  BELLS  OF  SAN  GABRIEL. 

He  was  very  good-looking,  this  tall  young  Span- 
iard, with  his  impatient  eyes  and  haughty,  intelligent 
face,  and  it  is  possible  that  the  lady  in  Mexico  had 
added  to  his  burden  by  doleful  prayers  to  return. 
He  took  a  letter  from  his  pocket,  read  it  half  through, 
then  walked  rapidly  over  to  the  Mission,  seeking 
interest  in  the  work  of  the  Indians.  Under  the  keen, 
merciless  supervision  of  the  padres, — the  cleverest 
body  of  men  who  ever  set  foot  in  America, — they 
were  mixing  and  laying  the  adobes,  making  nails 
and  tiles,  hewing  aqueducts,  fashioning  great  stone 
fonts  and  fountains.  De  la  Torre  speculated,  after 
his  habit,  upon  the  future  of  a  country  so  beautiful 
and  so  fertile,  which  a  dozen  priests  had  made  their 
own.  Would  these  Indians,  the  poorest  apologies 
for  human  beings  he  had  ever  seen,  the  laziest  and 
the  dirtiest,  be  christianized  and  terrified  into  worthy 
citizens  of  this  fair  land?  Could  the  clear  white 
flame  that  burned  in  the  brain  of  the  padres  strike 
fire  in  their  neophytes'  narrow  skull,  create  a  soul 
in  those  groveling  bodies  ?  He  dismissed  the  ques- 
tion. 

Would  men  of  race,  tempted  by  the  loveliness  of 
this  great  gold-haired  houri  sleeping  on  the  Pacific, 
come  from  old  and  new  Spain  and  dream  away  a  life 
of  pleasure?  What  grapes  would  grow  out  of  this 
rich  soil  to  be  crushed  by  Indian  slaves  into  red 
wine !  And  did  gold  vein  those  velvet  hills  ?  How 
all  fruits,  all  grains,  would  thrive!  what  superb 
beasts  would  fatten  on  the  thick  spring  grass !  Ay ! 
it  was  a  magnificent  discovery  for  the  Church,  and 


THE  BELLS  OF  SAN  GABRIEL.  291 

great  would  be  the  power  that  could  wrest  it  from 
her. 

There  was  a  new  people,  somewhere  north  of 
Mexico,  in  the  United  States  of  America.  Would 
they  ever  covet  and  strive  to  rob  ?  The  worse  for 
them  if  they  molested  the  fire-blooded  Spaniard. 
How  he  should  like  to  fight  them !  He  stamped  his 
foot  with  rage. 

That  night  the  sentinel  gave  a  sudden,  pierc- 
ing shout  of  warning,  then  dropped  dead  with  a 
poisoned  arrow  in  his  brain.  Another  moment,  and 
the  soldiers  had  leaped  from  their  swinging  beds 
of  hide,  and,  headed  by  their  captain,  had  reached 
the  church  they  were  there  to  defend.  Through 
plaza  and  corridors  raced  and  shrieked  the  savage 
tribe,  whose  invasion  had  been  made  with  the  swift- 
ness and  cunning  of  their  race.  The  doors  had  not 
been  hung  in  the  church,  and  the  naked  figures  sped 
in  upon  the  heels  of  the  soldiers,  waving  torches 
and  yelling  with  delight.  The  few  neophytes  who 
•retained  spirit  enough  to  fight  after  the  bleaching 
process  which  had  chilled  their  native  fire  and  pro- 
duced a  result  which  was  neither  man  nor  beast  but 
a  sort  of  barnyard  fowl,  hopped  about  under  the 
weight  of  their  blankets  and  .were  promptly  dis- 
patched. 

The  brunt  of  the  battle  fell  upon  the  small  detach- 
ment of  troops,  and  at  the  outset  they  were  over- 
whelmed by  numbers,  dazzled  by  the  glare  of  torches 
that  waved  and  leaped  in  the  cavern-like  darkness 
of  the  church.  But  they  fought  like  Spaniards, 


292     THE  SELLS  OF  SAN  GABRIEL. 

hacking  blindly  with  their  swords,  cleaving  dusky 
skulls  with  furious  maledictions,  using  their  fists, 
their  feet,  their  teeth — wrenching  torches  from 
malignant  hands  and  hurling  them  upon  distorted 
faces.  Curses  and  wild  yells  intermingled.  De 
la  Torre  fought  at  the  head  of  his  men  until  men  and 
savages,  dead  and  living,  were  an  indivisible  mass, 
then  thrust  back  and  front,  himself  unhurt.  The 
only  silent,  clear-brained  man  among  them,  he  could 
reason  as  he  assaulted  and  defended,  and  he  knew 
that  the  Spaniards  had  little  chance  of  victory — and 
he  less  of  looking  again  upon  the  treasures  of  Mexico. 
The  Indians  swarmed  like  ants  over  the  great  nave 
and  transept.  Those  who  were  not  fighting  smashed 
the  altar  and  slashed  the  walls.  The  callous  stars 
looked  through  the  apertures  left  for  windows,  and 
shed  a  pallid  light  upon  the  writhing  mass.  The 
padres  had  defended  their  altar,  behind  the  chancel 
rail ;  but  they  lay  trampled,  with  arrows  vibrating 
in  their  hard  old  muscles. 

De  la  Torre  forced  his  way  to  the  door  and  stood 
for  a  moment,  solitary,  against  the  pale  light  of  the 
open,  then  turned  his  face  swiftly  to  the  night  air 
as  he  fell  over  the  threshold  of  the  Mission  he  had 
so  gallantly  defended. 


THE  BELLS  OF  SAN  GABRIEL.  293 


II. 

DELFINA  DE  CAPALLEJA,  after  months  of  deferred 
hope,  stood  with  the  crowd  at  the  dock,  awaiting 
the  return  of  the  troop  which  had  gone  to  defend 
the  Mission  of  San  Gabriel  in  its  building.  There 
was  no  flutter  of  color  beneath  her  white  skin,  and 
the  heavily-lashed  lids  almost  concealed  the  impa- 
tient depths  of  her  eyes ;  the  proud  repose  of  her  head 
indicated  the  reserve  and  self-control  of  her  nature. 
Over  her  white  gown  and  black  dense  hair  she  wore 
a  black  lace  mantilla,  fastened  below  the  throat  with 
a  large  yellow  rose. 

The  ship  swung  to  anchor  and  answered  the  salute 
from  the  fort.  Boats  were  lowered,  but  neither 
officers  nor  soldiers  descended.  The  murmur  of 
disappointment  on  shore  rose  to  a  shout  of  execra- 
tion. Then,  as  the  ship's  captain  and  passengers 
landed,  a  whisper  ran  through  the  crowd,  a  wail, 
and  wild  sobbing.  They  flung  themselves  to  the 
earth,  beating  their  heads  and  breasts, — all  but  Del- 
fina  de  Capalleja,  who  drew  her  mantilla  about  her 
face  and  walked  away. 

The  authorities  of  the  city  of  Mexico  yielded  to 
public  clamor  and  determined  to  cast  a  silver  bell 
in  honor  of  the  slaughtered  captain  and  his  men. 
The  casting  was  to  take  place  in  the  great  plaza  be- 


294  THE  BELLS  OF  SAN  GABRIEL. 

fore  the  cathedral,  that  all  might  attend :  it  was 
long  since  any  episode  of  war  had  caused  such  ex- 
citement and  sorrow.  The  wild  character  and  re- 
moteness of  the  scene  of  the  tragedy,  the  meager- 
ness  of  detail  which  stung  every  imagination  into 
action,  the  brilliancy  and  popularity  of  De  la  Torre, 
above  all,  the  passionate  sympathy  felt  for  Delfina 
de  Capalleja,  Mexico's  most  beautiful  woman,  served 
to  shake  society  from  peak  to  base,  and  no  event 
had  ever  been  anticipated  with  more  enthusiasm  than 
the  casting  of  that  silver  bell. 

No  one  had  seen  Delfina  since  the  arrival  of  the 
news  had  broken  so  many  hearts,  and  great  was 
the  curiosity  regarding  her  possible  presence  at  the 
ceremony.  Universal  belief  was  against  her  ever 
again  appearing  in  public ;  some  said  that  she  was 
dead,  others  that  she  had  gone  into  a  convent,  but  a 
few  maintained  that  she  would  be  high-priestess  at 
the  making  of  the  bell  which  was  to  be  the  symbol 
and  monument  of  her  lover's  gallantry  and  death. 

The  hot  sun  beat  upon  the  white  adobe  houses  of 
the  stately  city:  at  the  upper  end  of  the  plaza, 
bending  and  swaying,  coquetting  and  languishing, 
were  women  clad  in  rich  and  vivid  satins,  their 
graceful  head  and  shoulders  draped  with  black  or 
white  mantillas;  caballeros  gay  in  velvet  trousers 
laced  with  gold  and  serape  embroidered  with  silver. 
Eyes  green  and  black  and  blue  sparkled  above  the 
edge  of  large  black  fans ;  fiery  eyes  responded  from 
beneath  silver-laden  sombreros.  The  populace,  in 
gala  attire,  crowded  the  rest  of  the  plaza  and  adja- 


THE  BELLS  OF  SAN  GABRIEL.  295 

cent  streets,  chattering  and  gesticulating.  But  all 
looked  in  vain  for  Delfina  de  Capalleja. 

Much  ceremony  attended  the  melting  of  the  bell. 
Priests  in  white  robes  stiff  with  gold  chanted  prayers 
above  the  silver  bubbling  in  the  caldron.  A  full- 
robed  choir  sang  the  Te  Deum ;  the  regiment  to 
which  De  la  Torre  had  belonged  fired  salutes  at  in- 
tervals ;  the  crowd  sobbed  and  shouted. 

Thunder  of  cannon,  passionate  swell  of  voices: 
the  molten  silver  was  about  to  be  poured  into  the 
mold.  The  crowd  hushed  and  parted.  Down  the 
way  made,  for  her  came  Delfina  de  Capalleja.  Her 
black  hair  hung  over  her  long  white  gown,  her 
body  bent  under  the  weight  of  jewels— the  jewels  of 
generations  and  the  jewels  of  troth.  Her  arms  hung 
at  her  sides.  In  her  eyes  was  the  peace  which  be- 
longs only  to  the  dead. 

She  walked  to  the  caldron,  and  taking  a  heavy 
gold  chain  from  her  neck  flung  it  into  the  silver. 
It  swirled  like  a  snake,  then  disappeared.  One  by 
one,  amidst  quivering  silence,  the  magnificent  jewels 
followed  the  chain.  Then,  as  she  took  the  last 
bracelet  from  her  arm,  madness  possessed  the  breath- 
less crowd.  The  indifferent,  self-conscious  men,  the 
languid,  coquetting  women,  the  fat,  drowsy  old 
dowagers,  all  rushed,  scrambling  and  screaming,  to 
the  caldron,  tore  from  their  head  and  body  the 
superb  jewels  and  ropes  of  gold  with  which  they 
were  bedecked,  and  flung  them  into  the  molten  mass, 
which  rose  like  a  tide.  The  electric  current  sprang 
to  the  people ;  their  baubles  sped  like  hail  through 


296  THE  BELLS  OF  SAN  GABRIEL. 

the  air.  So  great  was  the  excitement  that  a  sudden 
convulsing  of  the  earth  was  unfelt.  When  not  a 
jewel  was  left  to  sacrifice,  the  caldron  held  enough 
element  for  five  bells — the  five  sweet-voiced  bells 
which  rang  in  the  Mission  of  San  Gabriel  for  more 
than  a  century. 

Exhausted  with  shouting,  the  multitude  was  silent. 
Delfina  de  Capalleja,  who  had  stood  with  panting 
chest  and  dilating  nostrils,  turned  from  the  sacrifi- 
cial caldron,  the  crowd  parting  for  her  again,  the 
Laudate  Dominum  swelling.  As  she  reached  the 
steps  of  the  cathedral,  a  man  who  loved  her,  not- 
ing a  change  in  her  face,  sprang  to  her  side.  She 
raised  her  bewildered  eyes  to  his  and  thrust  out  her 
hand  suddenly.  "  Adios,"  she  said,  and  fell  at  his 
feet,  dead. 


WHEN  THE  DEVIL  WAS  WELL 


THE  Devil  locked  the  copper  gates  of  Hell  one 
night,  and  sauntered  down  a  Spacian  pathway.  The 
later  arrivals  from  the  planet  Earth  had  been  of  a 
distressingly  commonplace  character  to  his  Majesty 
— a  gentleman  of  originality  and  attainments,  what- 
ever his  disagreements  with  the  conventions.  He 
was  become  seriously  disturbed  about  the  moral 
condition  of  the  sensational  little  twinkler. 

"  What  are  my  own  about  ?  "  he  thought,  as  he 
drifted  past  planets  which  yielded  up  their  tributes 
with  monotonous  regularity.  "What  a  squeezed 
old  orange  would  Earth  become  did  I  forsake  it !  I 
must  not  neglect  it  so  long  again;  my  debt  of 
gratitude  is  too  great.  Let  me  see.  Where  shall  I 
begin  ?  It  is  some  years  since  I  have  visited  Amer- 
ica in  person,  and  unquestionably  she  has  most 
need  of  my  attention  ;  Europe  is  in  magnificent  run- 
ing  order.  This  is  a  section  of  her,  if  my  geography 
does  not  fail  me ;  but  what  ?  I  do  not  recall  it." 

297 


298  WHEN  THE  DEVIL  WAS  WELL. 

He  poised  above  a  country  that  looked  as  if  it  still 
hung  upon  the  edge  of  chaos  :  wild,  fertile,  massive, 
barren,  luxuriant,  crouching  on  the  ragged  line  of 
the  Pacific.  From  his  point  of  vantage  he  saw 
long  ranges  of  stupendous  mountains,  some  but 
masses  of  scowling  crags,  some  green  with  forests 
of  mammoth  trees  projecting  their  gaunt,  rigid  arms 
above  a  carpet  of  violets  ;  indolent  valleys  and  swirl- 
ing rivers ;  snow  on  the  black  peaks  of  the  North, 
the  riotous  color  of  eternal  summer  in  the  South. 
Suddenly  he  uttered  a  sharp  exclamation  and  swept 
downward,  halting  but  a  mile  above  the  ground. 
He  frowned  heavily,  then  smiled — a  long,  placid, 
sardonic  smile.  There  appeared  to  be  but  few  in- 
habitants in  this  country,  and  those  few  seemed  to 
live  either  in  great,  white,  irregular  buildings,  sur- 
mounted by  crosses,  in  little  brown  huts  near  by,  in 
the  caves,  or  in  hollowed  trees  on  the  mountains. 
The  large  buildings  were  situated  about  sixty  miles 
apart,  in  chosen  valleys;  they  were  imposing  and 
rambling,  built  about  a  plaza.  They  boasted  pil- 
lared corridors  and  bright  red  tiles  on  their  roofs. 
Within  the  belfries  were  massive  silver  bells,  and 
the  crosses  could  be  seen  to  the  furthermost 
end  of  the  valley  and  from  the  tops  of  the  loftiest 
mountain. 

"  California !  "  exclaimed  the  Devil.  "  I  know  of 
her.  Her  scant  history  is  outlined  in  the  Scarlet 
Book.  I  remember  the  points  :  Climate,  the  finest, 
theoretically,  in  the  world ;  satanically,  simply  mag- 
nificent. I  have  waited  impatiently  for  the  stream 


WHEN  THE  DEVIL  WAS  WELL.  299 

of  humanity  to  deflect  thitherward,  but  priests  will 
answer  my  present  purpose  exactly — unless  they 
are  all  too  tough.  To  continue,  gold  under  that 
grass  in  chunks— aha !  I  shall  have  to  throw  out 
an  extra  wing  in  Hell !  Parched  deserts  where  men 
will  die  cursing;  fruitful  valleys,  more  gratifying 
to  my  genius ;  about  as  much  of  one  as  of  the  other, 
but  the  latter  will  get  all  the  advertising,  and  the 
former  be  carefully  kept  out  of  sight.  Everything 
in  the  way  of  animal  life,  from  grizzly  bears  to  fleas. 
A  very  remarkable  State !  Well,  I  will  begin  on  the 
priests." 

He  shot  downward,  and  alighted  in  a  valley  whose 
proportions  pleased  his  eye.  Its  shape  was  oval ; 
the  bare  hills  enclosing  it  were  as  yellow  and  as 
bright  as  hammered  gold ;  the  grass  was  bronze- 
colored,  baking  in  the  intense  heat ;  but  the  placid 
cows  and  shining  horses  nibbled  it  with  the  con- 
tentment of  those  who  know  not  of  better  things. 
A  river,  almost  concealed  by  bending  willows  and 
slender,  erect  cotton  woods,  wound  capriciously  across 
the  valley.  The  Mission,  simpler  than  some  of  the 
others,  was  as  neatly  kept  as  a  farm  of  older  civ- 
ilization. Peace,  order,  reigned  everywhere ;  all 
things  drowsed  under  the  relentless  outpouring  of 
the  midsummer  sun. 

"  It  is  well  I  do  not  mind  the  heat,"  thought  His 
Majesty  ;  "  but  I  am  sensible  of  this.  I  will  go 
within." 

He  drew  a  boot  on  his  cloven  foot,  thus  rendering 
himself  invisible,  and  entered  a  room  of  the  long 


300  WHEN  THE  DEVIL  WAS  WELL. 

wing  that  opened  upon  the  corridor.  Here  the  tem- 
perature was  almost  wintry,  so  thick  were  the 
adobe  walls. 

Two  priests  sat  before  a  table,  one  reading  aloud 
from  a  bulky  manuscript,  the  other  staring  absently 
out  of  the  window.  The  reader  was  an  old  man; 
his  face  was  pale  and  spiritual ;  no  fires  burned  in  his 
sunken  eyes ;  his  mouth  was  stern  with  the  lines  of 
self-repression.  The  Devil  lost  all  interest  in  him 
at  once,  and  turned  to  the  younger  man.  His  face 
was  pale  also,  but  his  pallor  was  that  of  fasting  and 
hair  shirts ;  the  mouth  expressed  the  determination 
of  the  spirit  to  conquer  the  restless  longing  of  the 
eyes ;  his  nostrils  were  spirited ;  his  figure  lean 
and  nervous ;  he  moved  his  feet  occasionally,  and 
clutched  at  the  brown  Franciscan  habit. 

"  Paulo,"  said  the  older  priest,  reprovingly,  as  he 
lifted  his  eyes  and  noted  the  unbowed  head,  "  thou 
art  not  listening  to  the  holy  counsel  of  our  glorious 
Master,  our  saint  who  has  so  lately  ascended  into 
Heaven." 

"  I  know  Junipero  Serra  by  heart,"  said  Paulo,  a 
little  pettishly.  "  I  wish  it  were  not  too  hot  to  go 
out;  I  should  like  to  take  a  walk.  Surely  San 
Miguel  is  the  hottest  spot  on  earth.  The  very  fleas 
are  gasping  between  the  bricks." 

"  The  Lord  grant  that  they  may  die  before  the 
night !  Not  a  wink  have  I  slept  for  two !  But  thou 
shouldst  not  long  for  recreation  until  the  hour  comes, 
my  son.  Do  thy  duty  and  think  not  of  when  it  will 
"be  over,  for  it  is  a  blessed  privilege  to  perform  it— 


WHEN  THE  DEVIL  WAS  WELL.  301 

far  more  so  than  any  idle  pleasure — just  as  it  is 
more  blessed  to  give  than  to  receive " 

Here  the  Devil  snorted  audibly,  and  both  priests 
turned  with  a  jump. 

"  Did  you  hear  that,  my  father  ?  " 

"  It  is  the  walls  cracking  with  the  intense  heat. 
I  will  resume  my  reading,  and  do  thou  pay  attention, 
my  son." 

"  I  will,  my  father." 

And  for  three  hours  the  Devil  was  obliged  to  listen 
to  the  droning  voice  of  the  old  man.  He  avenged 
himself  by  planting  wayward  and  alarming  desires 
in  Paulo's  fertile  soul. 

Suddenly  the  Mission  was  filled  with  the  sound  of 
clamorous  silver :  the  bells  were  ringing  for  Vespers 
— a  vast,  rapid,  unrhythmical,  sweet  volume  of  sound 
which  made  the  Devil  stamp  his  hoofs  and  gnash  his 
teeth.  The  priests  crossed  themselves  arid  hurried 
to  their  evening  duties,  Satan  folio  wing,  furious,  but 
not  daring  to  let  .them  out  of  his  sight. 

The  church  was  crowded  with  dusky,  half-clothed 
forms,  prostrate  before  the  altar.  The  Devil,  during 
the  long  service,  wandered  amongst  them,  giving  a 
vicious  kick  with  his  cloven  foot  here,  pricking  with 
the  sharp  point  of  his  tail  there,  breeding  a  fine  dis- 
cord and  routing  devotion.  When  Vespers  were 
over  he  was  obliged  to  follow  the  priests  to  the  re- 
fectory, but  found  compensation  in  noting  that  Paulo 
displayed  a  keen  relish  for  his  meat  and  wine.  The 
older  man  put  his  supper  away  morsel  by  morsel,  as 
if  he  were  stuffing  a  tobacco-pouch. 


302  WHEN  THE  DEVIL  WAS  WELL. 

The  meal  finished,  Paulo  sallied  forth  for  his 
evening  walk.  The  Devil  had  his  chance. 

He  was  a  wise  Devil — a  Devil  of  an  experience  so 
vast  that  the  world  would  go  crashing  through  space 
under  the  weight  of  its  printed  volumes.  He  wasted 
no  time  with  the  preliminary  temptations — pride,  am- 
bition, avarice.  He  brought  out  the  woman  at  once. 

The  young  priest,  wandering  through  a  grove  of 
cotton  woods,  his  hands  clasped  listlessly  behind 
him,  his  chin  sunken  dejectedly  upon  his  breast 
suddenly  raised  his  eyes  and  beheld  a  beautiful 
woman  standing  not  ten  paces  away.  She  was  not 
a  girl  like  the  one  whom  he  had  renounced  for  the 
Church,  but  a  woman  about  whose  delicate,  warm 
face  and  slender,  palpitating  bosom  hung  the  vague 
shadow  of  maturity.  Her  hair  was  the  hot  brown 
of  copper,  thick  and  rich  ;  her  eyes  like  the  meeting 
of  flame  and  alcohol.  The  emotion  she  inspired  was 
not  the  pure  glow  which  once  had  encouraged  rather 
than  deprecated  renunciation;  but  at  the  moment 
he  thought  it  sweeter. 

He  sprang  forward  with  arms  outstretched,  in- 
stinct conquering  vows  in  a  manner  highly  satis- 
factory to  the  Devil ;  then,  with  a  bitter  imprecation, 
turned  and  fled.  But  he  heard  light  footfalls  behind 
him ;  was  conscious  of  a  faint  perfume,  born  of  no 
earthly  flower,  and  felt  a  soft,  panting  breath.  A 
light  hand  touched  his  face.  He  flung  his  vows  to 
anxious  Satan,  and  turned  to  clasp  the  woman  in 
his  arms.  But  she  coyly  retreated,  half-resentfully, 
half -invitingly,  wholly-lovely.  Satan  closed  his  iron 


WHEN  THE  DEVIL  WAS  WELL.  303 

hand  about  the  vows,  and  the  priest  ran  toward  the 
woman,  the  lines  of  repression  on  his  face  gone,  the 
eyes  conquering  the  mouth.  But  again  she  retreated. 
He  quickened  his  steps ;  she  accelerated  hers ;  his 
legs  were  long  and  agile ;  but  she  was  fleet  of  foot. 
Finally  she  ran  at  full  speed,  her  warm  bright  hair 
lifted  and  spreading,  her  tender,  passionate  face 
turned  and  shining  through  it. 

They  left  the  cotton  woods,  and  raced  down  the 
wide  silent  valley,  the  cows  staring  with  stolid  dis- 
approval, the  stars  pulsing  in  sympathy.  The  priest 
felt  no  fatigue ;  he  forgot  the  Church  behind  him, 
the  future  of  reward  or  torment.  He  wanted  the 
woman,  and  was  determined  to  have  her.  He 
was  wholly  lost ;  and  the  Devil,  satisfied,  returned 
to  the  Mission. 

"Now,"  thought  he,  "for  revenge  on  that  old  fool 
for  defying  me  for  sixty  years !  " 

He  raised  his  index  finger  and  pointed  it  straight 
at  the  planet  Hell.  Instantly  the  sky  darkened,  the 
air  vibrated  with  the  rushing  sound  of  many  forms. 
A  moment  later  he  was  surrounded  by  a  regiment 
of  abbreviated  demons — a  flock  as  thick  as  a  grass- 
hopper plague,  twisted,  grinning,  leering,  hideous. 
He  raised  his  finger  again  and  they  leaped  to  the 
roofs  of  the  Mission,  wrenched  the  tiles  from  their 
places  and  sent  them  clattering  to  the  pavement. 
They  danced  and  wrestled  on  the  naked  roof,  yelling 
with  their  hoarse,  unhuinan  voices,  singing  awful 
chants. 


£04  Wnm  T£E  DEVIL  WAS  WELL. 

The  Devil  passed  within,  and  found  the  good  old 
priest  on  his  knees,  a  crucifix  clasped  to  his  breast, 
his  white  face  upturned,  shouting  ave  marias  and 
pater  nosters  at  the  top  of  his  aged  voice  as  if  fear- 
ful they  would  not  ascend  above  the  saturnalia  on 
the  roof.  The  Devil  added  to  his  distraction  by 
loud  bursts  of  ribald  laughter ;  but  the  father,  re- 
volving his  head  as  if  it  were  on  a  pivot,  continued 
to  pray.  Satan  began  to  curse  like  a  pirate. 

Suddenly  above  the  crashing  of  tiles,  the  hideous 
voices  of  Devil  and  demon,  the  prayers  of  the  padre, 
sounded  the  silver  music  of  the  bells.  Not  the  ir- 
regular clash  which  was  the  daily  result  of  Indian 
manipulation,  but  long,  rhythmic  peals,  as  sweet  and 
clear  and  true  as  the  singing  of  angels.  The  Devil 
and  his  minions,  with  one  long,  baffled,  infuriated 
howl,  shot  upward  into  space.  Simultaneously  a 
great  wind  came  roaring  down  the  valley,  uprooting 
trees  and  shaking  the  sturdy  Mission.  Thunder 
detonated,  lightning  cut  its  zig-zag  way  through 
black  clouds  like  moving  mountains ;  hail  rattled  to 
the  earth ;  water  fell  as  from  an  overturned  ocean. 
And  through  all  the  bells  pealed  and  the  priest 
prayed. 

Morning  dawned  so  calm  and  clear,  that,  but  for 
the  swimming  ground  and  the  broken  tiles  bestrew- 
ing it,  the  priest  would  have  thought  he  had 
dreamed  a  terrible  nightmare.  He  opened  the  door 
and  looked  anxiously  forth  for  Paulo.  Paulo  was 
not  to  be  seen.  He  called,  but  his  tired  voice  would 


WHEN  THE  DEVIL  WAS  WELL.  305 

not  carry.  Clasping  his  crucifix  to  his  breast,  he 
tottered  forth  in  search  of  his  beloved  young  col- 
league. He  passed  the  rancheria  of  the  Indians,  and 
found  them  all  asleep,  worn  out,  doubtless,  from  a 
night  of  terror. 

He  was  too  kind  to  awaken  them,  and  pursued 
his  way  alone  down  the  valley,  peering  fearfully  to 
right  and  left. 

The  ground  was  plowed,  dented,  and  strewn 
with  fallen  trees ;  the  river  roared  like  a  tidal  wave. 
Shuddering,  and  crossing  himself  repeatedly,  he 
passed  between  the  hills  and  entered  a  forest,  follow- 
ing a  path  which  the  storm  had  blasted.  After  a 
time  he  came  to  an  open  glade  where  he  and  Paulo 
had  loved  to  pray  whilst  the  spring  and  the  birds 
made  music.  To  his  surprise  he  saw  a  large  stone  ly- 
ing along  the  open.  He  wondered  if  some  meteor  had 
fallen.  Mortal  hands — Indian  hands,  at  least — were 
not  strong  enough  to  have  brought  so  heavy  a  bulk, 
and  he  had  not  seen  it  in  forest  or  valley  before. 

He  approached  and  regarded  it;  then  began 
mumbling  aves  and  paters,  running  them  together 
as  he  had  not  done  during  the  visitation  and  storm. 
The  stone  was  outlined  with  the  shape  of  a  man, 
long,  young  and  slender.  The  face  was  sharply  cut, 
refined,  impassioned  and  intellectual.  A  smile  of 
cynical  contentment  dwelt  on  the  strong  mouth. 
The  eyes  were  fixed  on  something  before  him.  Invol- 
untarily the  priest's  followed  them  and  lingered.  A 
tree  also  broke  the  open — one  which  never  had  been 
20 


306  WHEN  THE  DEVIL  WAS  WELL. 

there  before— and  it  bore  an  intoxicating  similitude 
to  the  features  and  form  of  a  surpassingly  beautiful 
woman. 

"Paulo!   Paulo!"   murmured  the  old  man,  with 
tears  in  his  eyes,  "  would  that  I  had  been  thee ! " 


THE  END. 


The  Doomswoman. 

BY  GERTRUDE  ATHERTON,  author  of  "Hermia  Suyd- 
am"  "Los  Cerritos,"  "A  Question  of  time,"  etc.  16mo, 
cloth,  ornamental,  $1.00. —  Paper  Binding,  50  cents. 

"Full  of  incident,  passion,  color,  and  character."—  The  Critic. 

"A  powerful  dramatic  representation  of  old  California  life." 

—Lippincotfi  Magazine. 
"Conspicuously  superior  to  any  novel  that  any  Calif ornian  has  done." 

— AMBROSE  BIERCE  in  San  Francisco  Examiner. 

"  'The  Doomswoman'  is  an  immensely  clever  book,  and  there  are  pages  in  it  that 
deserve  to  live  as  being  some  of  the  ablest  contributions  to  the  literature  of  the 
human  emotions  which  the  English  literature  contains." — Figaro,  Paris. 

"Mrs.  Athertonhas  given  to  us  a  picture  of  the  manners,  social  life,  traditions, 
feuds, and  ambitions  of  a  by-gone  time  and  a  virtually  by-gone  race.  .  .  .  'The 
Doomswoman  '  is  not  only  an  interesting  and  vivid  story,  but  a  book  of  permanent 
historical  value."— Boston  Times. 

"The  characters  in  the  book  are  very  fine.  The  action  is  rapid  and  interesting. 
The  descriptions  are  artistic,  and  all  is  clothed  with  a  charming  style.  It  is  a  de- 
lightful book." — New  Orleans  Picayune. 

•'  It  is  in  the  realized  fulness  and  complex  emotions  of  life  that  Mrs.  Atherton's 
strength  lies.  Chonita,  *  The  Doomswoman,'  is  a  character  whose  completeness 
could  be  surpassed  by  few  authors.  A  breathing  reality  created  by  a  master  hand; 
and  she  is  not  less  real  because  she  is  an  uncommon,  an  original  character.  This 
is  high  praise  but  it  is  not  too  high." — Vanity  Fair,  London. 

"  The  novel  is  full  of  a  vivid  life  and  personality,  of  freshness  and  fascination,  of 

pictures  which  will  not  easily  be  forgotten It  is  by  far  the  most 

picturesque  and  characteristic  showing  that  has  been  made  of  that  time  (the  old 
Spanish  days)."—  Literary  World. 

"Though  Mrs.  Atherton's  descriptions  of  the  land  and  of  the  estates,  of  the  dwell- 
ings and  of  the  inhabitants,  of  their  christenings  and  marriages  with  the  joyous 
accompaniments  of  feast  and  dance,  are  vivid  and  interesting,  yet  her  novel  has  in 
it  an  abundance  of  thought,  a  critical  intellectuality,  an  acuteness  in  character 
analysis  that  give  it  abundant  worth  even  were  it  not  placed  in  an  attractive  set- 
ting of  unusual  scenery." — Public  Opinion. 

"  Mrs.  Atherton's  realism  can  be  praised  because  it  is  natural  and  not  pretended. 
Given  the  strange  atmosphere  in  which  her  characters  move  they  are  men  and 
women  with  the  virtues  and  failings  of  genuine  people.  Her  descriptions  of  social 
life  in  California  are  vivid,  and  they  haye  the  effect  of  dissipating  some  of  those 
ceremonious  forms  which  were  crystallized  in  much  old-fashioned  fiction  respect, 
ing  the  Spaniards  in  America." — New  York  Tribune. 

"A  novel  of  early  Californian  and  Mexican  days  before  the  discovery  of  gold. 
Told  with  force  and  vivid  effect."— Baltimore  Sun* 


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